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Photographic 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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D 


D 


D 

n 


□ 


n 


n 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

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D 
D 

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I     1    Showthrough/ 


D 

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Transparence 

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Includes  supplementary  materia 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


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This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

J 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


itails 
i  du 
lodifier 
'  une 
mage 


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to  the  generosity  of: 

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g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


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de  la  nettet^  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  Hm  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
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the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exempiaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film^s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^►(meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  inciuded  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film^s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  i\\m6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup^rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


irrata 
to 


pelure, 
n  d 


D 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

i      1     " 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

•(■^«^r?,^ 


•  f 


MONTREAL 


■:^ 


5Y 
GASLIGHT. 


i;  J| 


I   WOULD   A  TALE  UNFOLD,  WHOSE  LIGHTEST  WORD 
WOULD    HARROW    UP   THY   SOUL." 

—Hamlet. 


Cejyris^t,  1889. 


PUBLISHED  FOR  THE  TRADE, 


hi, 


m 


CHAPTER  I. 


NOT  AS   WE   SEEM. 


Surely  there  stand  few  nobler  cities  than 
Montreal — surely  none  more  fairly  situated. 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence  Montreal 
lifts  her  thousand  roofs  toward  the  faint  blue 
of  the  Canadian  sky,  and  her  sons  speak  with 
many  tongues  of  the  young  nation  to  whose 
tniterprise  and  daring  she  is  a  living,  a  growing 
testament. 

To-day  Montreal  ranks  as  the  largest  and 
most  important  of  Canadian  cities.  She  has  a 
population  of  two  hundred  thousand  souls — 
including  her  suburbs — composed  mainly  of 
English  and  French  Canadians.  To  these  add 
German,  Italian,  Spanish,  Russian,  and  Chinese, 
and  it  will  be  seen  that  Montreal's  inhabitants 
are  from  every  clime  and  of  many  tongues. 

Not  ^one  ^s  to  numbers  does  Montreal 


NOT  AS  WB  8BX1L 


1 


claim  pre-eminence  over  her  neighbors.  Her 
commerce  is  far-reaching,  and  for  its  accommo- 
dation she  has  built  the  finest  wharf-frontage 
in  the  world.  Come  with  me  to  the  northern 
approach  of  the  Victoria  Bridge — that  monu- 
ment of  engineering  skill — and  look  toward  the 
east.  Far  almost  as  the  eye  can  reach  are  to 
be  seen  the  ships  of  many  nations  freighted 
with  the  products  of  distant  lands.  The  Grand 
Trunk  and  Canadian  Pacific  railways  here  find 
their  headquarters,  and  Montreal  is  thus  the 
centre  and  distributing  point  of  two  of  the 
greatest  railway  systems  in  the  world. 

Within  the  city  the  traveller  meets  every 
evidence  of  nineteenth-century  progress.  Let 
him  drive  along  St.  Paul  Street,  and  its  solid 
warehouses  must  impress  him  with  the  wealth 
and  commerce  of  the  city.  Escort  him  to  Sher- 
brooke  Street,  and  he  will  see  on  either  side 
the  evidences  of  the  good  taste  and  refinement 
of  the  Montrealer. 

vShould  he  be  lucky  enough  to  visit  Montreal 
during  her  Winter  Carnival,  let  him  mafk  well 
the  fair  and  smiling  faces  of  her  daughters, 
the  stalwart  forms  of  her  sons.    If,  after  this, 


1 


NOT  AS  WB  8SB1C  5  . 

he  would  deny  to  Montreal  her  many  beauties 
he  must  indeed  be  as  prejudiced  as  a  Bostonian 
or  as  ignorant  as  a  Londoner. 

But  you,  the  resident  of  Montreal,  what  do 
you  know  of  your  own  city  ?  The  Parisian 
prides  himself  upon  his  native  city,  and  for 
hours  he  can  discourse  upon  her  loveliness. 
**  See  Paris  and  die,"  he  says  with  an  air  of 
superiority  truly  French.  Even  the  Neapoli- 
tan— down-trodden,  priest-ridden,  dirty,  and  un- 
happy- was  impelled  to  reply,  "  See  Naples 
and  live."  To  the  New-Yorker  there  is  no 
street  like  Broadway;  to  the  Londoner,  no  park 
like  Hyde  Park.  Boston,  the  butt  of  small 
wits  who  prate  incessantly  of  "  baked  beans" 
and  call  her  the  home  of  sluggers,  still  boasts 
of  her  culture,  and  the  Bostonian,  according  to 
W.  D.  Howells,  is  loud  in  praise  of  the  beauty 
and  refinement  of  Beacon  Street  and  Common- 
wealth Avenue. 

What  hav^e  you,  dear  Montrealer,  to  say  of 
your  native  city  ? 

Nothing. 

It  is  certain  as  night  follows  day  that  the 
ignorance  of  the  Montrealer,  as  regards  Mon- 


s- 


NOT   A&  W£  SKEM. 


treal,  is  as  dense  as  it  is  remarkable.  A  witty 
king  of  France  once  said,  after  hearing  a  ser- 
mon by  tiie  Abbd  Maury,  "If  he  knew  a  little 
about  religion  he  would  know  a  little  about 
everything.  It  might  well  be  said  of  the 
Montrealcr  that  all  he  requires  to  be  a  well- 
informed  man  is  an  acquaintance  with  his  native 
city.  It  is  certain  that  he  is  lacking  in  knowl- 
edge and  appreciation  of  his  own  city.  Upon 
other  subjects  he  is  at  least  the  equal  of  his 
American  cousins. 

Would  indeed  that  it  was  the  object  of  this 
short  sketch  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  dweller  in 
the  Canadian  metropolis  to  the  beauties  of  his 
native  city,  or  to  lead  the  stranger  to  visit  there 
and  enjoy  its  hospitality  !  Fain  would  we  dwell 
longer  upon  its  public  buildings,  its  parks,  its 
railways,  and  its  people.  Another  and  a  less 
pleasant  task  is  before  us. 

To  Montreal,  as  to  every  great  city,  flows  each 
year  the  ceaseless  tide  of  immigration.  It  brings 
with  it  the  young  man  and  maiden  upon  the 
threshold  of  independent  life, — recruits  for  the 
great  army  of  wage-earners  and  breadwinners. 
Driven  perhaps  by  desperation  from  the  shores 


■Jill 


JNOT  AS   WJ£  Li££M. 


of  unhappy  Ireland,  or,  it  may  be,  leaving  the 
quiet  of  the  simple  Cawadian  village,  they  enter 
within  the  city's  walls  and  begin  a  life  to  whose 
hardships  they  are  unaccustomed,  against  whose 
temptations,  alas !  they  may  not  be  proof. 

Does  it  not  become  a  duty  to  warn  them  ? 
If  aught  written  here  should  bo  the  means  of 
guiding  aright  one  stumbler's  feet,  this  book 
has  not  been  written  in  vain. 

•'  But,"  say  resident  and  visitor  alike,  "  Mon- 
treal is  a  fairly  moral  city.  It  is  not  like  Lon- 
don or  Paris;  it  's  different  from  New  York 
and  Chicago.  You  would  not  compare  it  with 
Boston,  where  Si  i  with  painted  face  and  gaudy 
dress  nightly  walks  the  cfowded  streets.  It  is 
not  St.  Louis,  where  the  Lord's  Day  is  forgot- 
ten, nor  New  Orleans,  where  gambling  is  car- 
ried on  with  open  doors.  In  short,  Montrealers 
do  not  seem  to  be  strugglers  in  that  insane  race 
for  inordinate  wealth  which  is  the  moral  ruin 
of  so  many  cities  of  the  New  World." 

No ;  Montreal  at  least  wears  not  its  scars 
upon  its  face  that  all  may  see  them.  The 
Pharisaical  Montrealer  ofttlmes  is  thankful  that 
his  city  is  not  as  other  cities  are. 


!• 


"{J  -.  - 


8  NOT  AS  WB  8EKM. 

The  Canadian  who  judges  of  New  York  life 
through  the  medium  of  Lawyer  Hummel's 
book  "Danger"  or  Talmage's  sermons  on 
*'The  Night  Side  of  New  York,"  and  whose 
ideas  of  Chicago  are  derived  from  one  of 
"  Pinkerton's  Detective  Series,"  who  reads  i  ' 
the  pages  of  Gautier,  wSylvcster,  or  Zola  of  th^ 
awful  vices  and  shameless  profligacy  of  modern 
Paris,  is  justified  in  believing  that  Montreal, 
with  all  her  sins  upon  her  head,  is  no  sink  of 
iniquity  like  these.  But  for  all  her  modest 
face,  her  moral  ways,  and  her  countless 
churches,  the  Canadian  metropolis  is  not  only 
to  be  seen  on  a  sunny  September  afternoon. 
There  is  a  reverse  to  the  medal. 

Montreal  has  indeed  its  seamy  side ;  and  the 
young  and  inexperienced  will  do  well  to  read 
and  profit  by  another's  knowledge,  else  their 
ignorance  may  cost  them  dear. 

Back  of  the  well-lighted  streets  and  the 
open,  honest  faces  are  other  streets  whose 
lights  burn  not  so  brightly,  and  other  faces  not 
so  fair. 

Come  with  me,  dear  reader,  and  you  will  see 
where  Sin  and  Misery  dwell  together, — where 


i.-JigiW^'.V^yf^^^ij'^^g?^. 


KOT  AS  WK  BBE1C 


the  gambler  behind  close-drawn  curtains  and 
locked  doors  is  winning  the  money  his  victim 
can  ill  alTord  to  lose;  where  gilded  \  ice  in  its 
every  form  holds  high  holiday,  ande  very  shred 
of  modesty  and  virtue  lies  torn  and  bleeding ; 
to  houses  of  quiet  looks  and  sombre  appear- 
ance, where  is  nightly  told 

"The  same  sad,  wretc.  .  1  story  that  for  ages  bards 
have  sung, 
Of  a  woman  weal     .nd    villinc:  :ind  a  villain'^  t^'mpt- 
ing  tongue" — 

where  Virtue  at  hA  surrenders,  and  insane  de- 
sire with  burning  eye-  seizes  upon  its  prey; 
where  wretched  men  in  stiliiiig  j>est-holes 
drink  madly  their  ruin  here  and  hereafter, 
while  near  at  hand,  perhaps,  their  family,  with 
hunger  faint,  cry  for  bread  in  accents  which 
would  melt  a  statue.  Walk  with  me  through 
factories  which  know  neither  air  nor  sunlight, 
where  children  of  tender  years  are  forced  by 
cruel  parents  to  work  from  chili  morning  to 
dewy  night  for  wages  such  as  are  supposed  to 
be  paid  only  in  London  or  New  York. 

It  may  be  then  that  the  Canadian  will  recog- 
nize that  London  is  not  alone  "the  modern 


10 


NOT  AS  WIS  SEEK. 


Babylon,"  but  that  the  Minotaur  of  brutal  lust 
and  the  blind  worshipper  o^  Mammon  live  in 

their  midst.     He  will  see  then  tha*  because 

« 

Montr  ;al  has  no  Hay  market,  no  Chelsea  Gar- 
dens, it  is  not  therefore  a  very  citadel  of  virtue, 
but  that  the  scarlet  woman  is  our  neighbor  and 
flaunts  her  sin  in  our  faces. 

Upon  the  streets  of  Montreal  are  daily  seen 
the  cheery  faces  and  ofttimes  is  heard  the 
merry  laughter  of  the  young  toilers  in  the 
ranks  of  labor.  But  behind  the  smiling  lips  is 
there  not  often  the  sad  heart,  and  is  not  the 
laughter  forced  and  hollow  ? 

Last  and  greatest  of  all,  think  you  that  the 
modern  plague  of  London  is  not  known  to  us  ? 
Are  we  not  infected  ?  In  the  thirteen  hundred 
places  where  strong  drink  is  sold,  one  liquor 
store  to  every  one  hundred  and  fifty  inhabitants, 
can  you  not  find  food  for  reflection — aye,  and 
a  field  for  labor  ? 

Let  the  Canadian  think  these  things  over. 
Let  him  come  with  me,  and  he  will  find  more 
things  in  Montreal  than  are  dreamt  of  in  his 
philosophy. 

What  say  you  ? 


THE  YBNE-MENT-BOUSS. 


11 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE   TENEMENT-HOUSE. 


Of  late  years,  the  fashionable  world  of  Lon- 
don, wearied  in  its  pursuit  of  pleasure,  its  sated 
senses  sleeping  from  excess  of  excitement,  its 
every  conceivable  source  of  enjoyment  failing, 
betook  itself  to  scenes  of  which  it  until  then 
had  but  a  shadowy  idea.  The  Park  and  Rot- 
ten Row,  Lord's,  Hurlinghame,  Richmond, 
the  theatre  and  the  opera-house,  had  all  been 
done  to  death.  The  parade  in  the  Park,  the 
shooting  at  Hurlinghame,  the  sports  at  Lord's, 
and  the  drives  and  suppers  at  Richmond  no 
longer  supplied  the  devotees  of  pleasure  with 
their  needed  stimulant.  The  stage-manage- 
ment of  an  Irving,  the  graces  of  a  Terry,  the 
music  of  Patti's  voi*  c,  or  the  harmonies  of 
Hans  Richter's  orchestra  at  the  Albert  Hall 
were  seen,  heard,  and  admired.  But  this  was 
not  sensation,  to  stir  the  feeble  pulse  and  send 
the  patrician  blood  coursing  through  shrivelled 


B,J.3U\--'J.    ■ 


-  ■  >  j^..-.  »<-*%Q.-       t  Fit  ^^nfciTJi— Lj  -■V*'  afj- 


"f 


12 


THE  TENEMENT-HOUSE. 


veins  with  new  life.  Where  could  the  nobility 
find  a  relief  from  the  monotony  of  fashionable 
London  life  ?  Every  sight  and  every  scene  in 
society  was  familiar  and  wearisome.  The  per- 
son who  could  find  for  these — the  salt  of  the 
earth — a  new  diversion,  one  which  would  prove 
a  pleasure,  not  a  penalty,  might  claim  from 
them  I  he  ransom  of  a  king.  He  would  be 
honored,  paragraphed,  interviewed,  and  his 
name  would  be  known  and  famous  wherever 
the  English  newspapers  were  read.  He  might 
even  be  given  an  entire  paragraph  in  the 
columns  of  the  Morning  Post.  Surely,  with 
such  iiiduccments  before  them,  the  wise  and  the 
witty  of  London  town  would  find  this  water  of 
life,  this  long-sought  diversion.  The  man  who 
could  once  more  supply  the  bluest  blood  in 
England  with  "  one  crowded  hour  of  glorious 
life"  must  be  found. 

One  fine  day  he  appeared. 

Who  was  he,  this  benefactor,  this  Moses  who 
was  to  prove  a  leader  for  the  chosen  people  ? 
Was  he  already  known  to  fame,  noble  and  rich, 
or  was  he  only  some  obscure  public-house 
keeper  who  had   Invented  a  new  drink,  some 


THE  TENEMENT-HOUBE. 


13 


low  sporting  man  who  had  devised  some 
species  of  contest  more  exciting  than  fox- 
\hunting,  more  brutal  than  coursing,  more  de- 
grading than  prize-fighting  ? 

It  was  nothing  of  this  kind. 

The  (Edipus  who  had  solved  this  riddle,  or, 
more  properly  speaking,  had  suggested  the 
solution,  was  only  a  simple  paragraph  in  a 
London  daily. 

What  did  it  say,  what  secret  had  it  revealed, 
to  so  shake  fashionable  London  to  its  very 
heart  ? 

Only  this  and  nothing  more  : 

"  On  Thursday  night  last.  Sir  Charles  Gran- 
dison,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  Sir  Paul  Parra- 
vicin  his  cousin,  and  his  two  nieces  the  Honor- 
able Misses  Herbert  of  Herbert  House,  xvent, 
went  through  some  of  the  lowest  districts  of 
Whitechapel  and  Billingsgate.  Their  visit  was 
the  subject  of  much  discussion  at  the  reception 
at  Buckingham  Palace  last  night." 

This,  then,  vas  the  long-sought  amusement — 
the  pleasure  which  could  never  pall,  which  age 
could  not  wither,  nor  custom  stale.  The  parade 
and  pomp  of  the  fashionable  world,  its  glitter 


^1 


14 


THE  TgNEMBin'-UOUbi:. 


and  its  show,  so  tiresome  and  so  enervating,  must 
pale  its  ineffectual  fires  before  this  latest  and 
best  diversion.  The  poor,  the  wretched,  the 
downtrodden,  and  the  starving,  with  hunger  in 
their  eyes  and  misery  written  in  indelible  marks 
upon  their  features,  could  supply  an  inexhaust- 
ible source  of  pleasure ;  and  perhaps  out  of  it  all 
some  good  might  come.  Maybe  some  patri- 
cian heart,  less  flinty  than  the  other,  would  hear 
the  song  of  sorrow  and  lend  a  willing  hand  to 
smooth  the  path  of  poverty  and  sin. 

Like  a  storm,  the  new  craze  spread  over  the 
tight  little  island.  Nothing  was  heard  but 
"The  Bitter  Cry  of  Outcast  London,"  The 
reviews  and  the  dailies  teemed  with  news  from 
the  foulest  quarters  of  the  vilest  city  in  the 
world.  Photographs  of  professional  beauties 
and  notorious  actresses  for  a  time  were  at  a 
discount,  and  in  their  places  shop-windows  held 
**  Interior  of  a  Whitechapel  Lodging-house," 
"  View  of  a  Tenement  near  the  Docks,"  and 
"  Group  of  Men  and  Women  in  Little  Crooked 
Street,  off  Mile-End  Road/'  Night  after  night 
the  best  biood  in  England  thronged  to  the  dis- 
tricts where  Comfort  and   Honesty  are  un- 


\ 


THE  TENKMENT-HOUSE. 


15 


known,  and  where  Abject  Poverty  and  Brutal 
Vice  hold  high  carnival. 

Like  absinthe  to  the  dram-drinker,  like  free- 
dom to  the  convict,  the  latest  amusement  came 
with  a  novelty  and  a  charm  simply  irresistible. 
It  gave  the  pleasure-sated  Englishman  a  new 
and  curious  feeling,  not  perhaps  entirely  agree- 
able, but  fascinating:  it  compelled  him  to 
think,  to  ponder  awhile  upon  the  sin  and  sor 
row  which  lay  scarce  concealed  below  the  sur- 
face of  Merry  England,  and  which  smouldered 
with  a  threatening  light. 

The  amusement  travelled. 

New  York,  English  as  she  would  be,  was 
not  to  be  outdone  in  the  eager  pursuit  of 
pleasure.  Hardly  had  the  news  crossed  the 
water  that  "The  Prince  of  Wales  formed  one 
of  a  slumming  party  last  Monday,"  than  every 
would-be  chappie  in  the  fashionable  clubs  and 
restaurants  of  the  city  decided  that  he  too  must 
see  those  sights  and  hear  those  sounds  in  imi- 
tation of  "the  First  Gentleman  in  Europe." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  beings  who 
prowl  about  the  narrow,  dark,  and  crooked 
streets  surrpunding  Chatham  Square  and  the 


I 


.'jjaaLja^feigMji; 


16 


THE   TENKMENT-HOUSE. 


hi 


lower  end  of  the  Bowery,  the  unfortunates 
who  live  in  sky-scraping  tenements,  stifling  al- 
ley-ways, and  dark,  damp  cellars  on  Pell  and 
Baxter  and  Mulberry  streets,  were  nightly 
astonished  by  visits  from  strangers  who  peered 
about,  laughed  and  jested,  and  departed. 

The  craze  never  reached  Montreal.  It  might 
be  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  metropolis  of 
Canada  were  not  sufficiently  loyal  to  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  the  most  distinguished  admirer 
of  the  sport,  or  perhaps  they  read  of  the  mis- 
ery and  poverty  of  London  and  New  York, 
and  forgot  the  slums  within  their  own  ci'/'s 
walls,  and  the  starving  poor  at  their  own  doors. 

The  latter  is  the  true  cause. 

Montreal  tenement-life  has  its  dark  and 
seamy  side,  for  all  that  it  boasts  of  no  nine- 
story  rookeries  whose  condition  is  a  folly  and 
a  shame  unto  New  York.  Come  with  me  into 
the  poorer  quarters  of  the  city,  and  you  will  hear 
the  voice  of  hunger  in  accents  not  less  eloquent 
than  would  greet  you  in  Mulberry  Bend  or 
Mile-End  Road.  Walk  in  the  streets  running 
up  from  the  St.  Lawrence  River,  and  you  will 
see  faces  which  tell  of  sorrow  and  privation 


THE  TENEMENT-HOUSK. 


17 


not  less  plainly  than  if  you  encounter  them  on 
Elizabeth  Street  or  the  Old  Bow  Road. 

Some  years  ago,  the  Montreal  Star^  as  a 
cheerful  subject  for  Christmas-time,  published 
a  series  of  articles  upon  the  slums  of  Montreal. 
Well-written  and  clever,  they  excited  much  at- 
tention at  the  time,  and  to  this  day  the  "  Little 
Windsor"  and  the  "  Piggery"  are  not  forgotten. 

Upon  a  much-frequented  street  in  the  vicinity 
of  St.  Ann's  Market  on  McGill  Street  is  a  four- 
story  stone  building  whose  walls  seem  to 
have  come  apart,  not  for  the  purpose  of  ad- 
mitting heaven's  fresh  air,  but  to  allow  the 
noxious  exhalations  from  within  to  escape. 
Formerly  used  as  a  hotel,  it  is  now  a  low  lodg- 
ing-house, and  within  its  four  walls  and  upon 
its  four  stories  lived  at  one  time  no  less  than 
twenty-eight  families.  In  the  direst  poverty, 
in  abject  want,  without  air,  with  no  appliances 
for  health  and  decency,  in  dirt  and  filth  appal- 
ling, over  one  hundred  and  ten  human  beings 
herded  like  rats  in  a  pit,  barely  existing  from  day 
to  day.  Small  wonder  was  it  that  when  the 
awful  small-pox  epidemic  of  1885  visited  and 
devastated  the  city,  it  found  fair  fuel  in  this 


18 


THE  TENEMENT-HOUSE. 


den.  From  morning  to  night  could  be  seen 
the  burial-carts  of  the  city  standing  in  front  of 
the  door,  as  if  waiting  until  the  pestilence 
should  claim  another  victim.  They  seldom 
waited  in  vain.  Dying  of  this  foul  and  filthy 
disease,  the  child  of  dirt  and  uncleanness,  the 
unfortunate  lay  with  others  scarcely  human  in 
this  pest-house  in  the  heart  of  the  city.  Slowly 
upon  him  would  steal  the  deep  stupor,  the  sure 
precursor  of  death  ;  fainter  and  fainter  still  the 
heart  would — beat  a  quiet,  almost  imperceptible 
sigh,  and  another  soul  had  left  the  house  of 
death.  Thrown  into  a  box  of  unplaned  boards, 
the  corpse  would  be  carried  down  and  pitched 
into  the  burial-cart,  and  the  slums  of  Montreal, 
aided  and  abetted  by  dirt  and  unsanitary  condi- 
tions, had  claimed  another  victim. 

When  the  plague  had  stayed  its  Hand,  the 
officers  of  the  law  investigated  this  sink-hole.  It 
was  reported  unfit  for  habitation,  and  the  occu^ 
pants  were  compelled  to  move.  A  few  trilling 
alterations  were  made  to  the  place,  but  it  still 
remains,  a  disgrace  to  Montreal,  but  surely 
taking  high  rank  as  a  "A  Slum." 

Upon  a  narrow  and  unfrequented  street  in 


^ 


TUB  TENKMKNT-H0US15. 


19 


the  vicinity  of  McCord  Street,  and  adjoining 
the  Lachine  Canal,  stands  a  row  of  tenement- 
houses.  To  the  passer-by,  their  neat  and  clean 
appearance  without  would  attract  attention  in 
so  squalid  and  poor  a  district.  One  thing  in- 
deed was  more  than  noticeable :  even  in  sum- 
mer no  open  blinds  gave  the  inquiring  eyes  of 
outsiders  the  satisfaction  they  craved.  In  winter 
thick  curtains  behind  the  double  windows  shut 
out  the  occupants  of  the  outside  world. 

What  secret  is  hidden  behind  those  brick 
walls?  What  scenes  are  enacted  on  the  other 
side  of  the  curtains  ? 

Come  with  me  and  see. 

Upon  the  ground-floor  of  No.  127,  the  first 
in  the  row%  live  in  three  rooms  two  families. 
Eleven  human  beings — created  in  the  image 
of  their  Maker — eat,  drink,  sleep,  and  perhaps 
wash  in  these  three  rooms.  In  a  Christian  city 
is  this  right  ? 

Upon  a  bed  in  the  smallest  room  of  all, 
covered  with  dirty  and  tattered  blankets,  lies 
the  form  of  a  man.  The  pale  face,  sunken 
eyes,  and  wasted  cheeks  need  no  interpreter^ 
Here    sorrow,    poverty,    and    hunger    speak 


■'■mm'ifm&mii^ 


20 


THE  TENEMENT-HOUSE. 


in  tongue  that  all  may  hear  and  understand. 
This  man,  until  lately  a  stonemason  upon  the 
works  for  the  new  Canal,  was  seriously  injured 
by  the  falling  upon  him  of  some  heavy  stones. 
At  first  he  deemed  his  injuries  trifling,  and  was 
glad  to  accept  a  paltry  hundred  dollars  from 
his  employer  in  full  of  all  claims  for  injuries 
received  while  in  his  employ.  But  the  days 
moved  on,  the  obstinate  flesh  refused  to  heal, 
days  became  months,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
sell  his  furniture  and  move  to  his  present  dwel- 
ling. His  wife  earns  an  occasional  dollar, 
which  always  goes  the  way  of  the  corner 
saloon,  and  his  three  young  sons  sell  papers. 
In  this  way  they  exist. 

The  second  family  who  occupy  this  tene- 
ment are  in  even  a  worse  plight.  They  are 
husband  and  wife  with  no  children,  but  they 
are  always  drunk.  When  they  cannot  buy 
the  liquor  they  steal  it. 

In  the  third  room,  which  is  used  for  bed- 
room, kitchen,  and  occasionally  as  a  wash- 
room, four  unfortunates  sleep  as  best  they  can. 
They  are  the  young  children  of  a  man  who 
deserted  his  family,  and  of  a  woman  driven  to 


tnt  tfiKBlfBNT-HOUSle. 


il 


death  by  drink.  The  kind-hearted  neighbors 
once  in  a  while  give  them  food  and  drink,  and 
the  eldest  boy  makes  enough  from  odd  jobs 
to  pay  two  dollars  a  month  for  rent  of  his 
den.  Here  is  squalor  and  misery  ;  in  a  room 
reeking  with  vile  odors  and  foul  with  dirt, 
he  and  three  sisters  lie  out  upon  the  floor  and 
sleep  as  best  they  can. 

Do  you  still  doubt  Montreal  has  no  tene- 
ments where  cleanliness  and  health  are  un- 
known? 

Come  with  me  to  the  second  story,  and 
read  another  lesson  from  the  Book  of  Sorrow. 

In  three  rooms  whose  condition  is  fouler,  if 
possible,  than  the  apartments  downstairs  live 
a  husband  and  wife  and  nine  children.  Again 
eleven  persons,  where  there  should  be  but 
five.  The  w^ater  turned  off,  the  sink  long  ago 
choked  up,  the  floors  thick  with  dir*,,  and  a 
swarm  of  children  almost  naked  roll  upon  the 
floor,  gathering  more  dirt  as  they  play.  Upon 
a  bed  in  the  corner,  a  drunken  man ;  in  a 
broken  chair,  a  woman  sobbing.     It  is  enough. 

Upon  the  top  floor  tho  partitions  dividing 
the  rooms  have  been  torn  down,  and  the  floor 


I  I 


22 


TtIK  TENEyEXT-HOUSK. 


is  pile  1  with  rags — foul-looking  and  ill-smell- 
ing. The  holes  in  the  roof  have  been  patched 
up  with  paper  and  anything  handy. 

But  th'j  room  is  deserted.  Does  no  one 
occupy  this  flat  }  is  it  untenanted  ? 

Go  there  at  night,  when  the  horrors  of  the 
place  are  made  more  horrible  by  shadows 
dark  md  forbidding.  Upon  this  floor,  scarce 
twenty-four  feet  long  and  nine  broad,  are 
stretched  fourteen  men  and  boys.  Fourteen, 
did  you  say  ? 

Aye,  fourteen  and  sometimes  more,  for  this 
room  is  let  to  a  harpy  in  humnn  form,  who 
in  turn  sublets  it  to  any  man  willing  to  pay 
ten  cents  a  night.  The  lowest  in  this  poverty- 
stricken  district  congregate  there :  disease-rid- 
den, loathsome,  and  drunken  lie  down  side  by 
side,  and  snatch  as  best  they  can  a  few  hours 
of  heavy  and  unrefreshing  sleep. 

What  need  to  go  farther  ?  Why  visit  No. 
129  or  No.  131,  and  hear  again  with  silent 
tongue  this  sad,  sad  tale  of  woe?  We  would 
but  listen  to  the  same  story  told  in  other 
words;  we  would  but  feel  the  same  tugging 


s 


ii       i 


iauJJJtJfc 


TUB  TBNBMBlTT-nOUBB. 


M 


■x 


at  our  heart-strings  and  be  saddened.  We 
can  do  no  good. 

There  is  no  need  to  visit  the  tumble-down 
dwellings  in  the  East  End — dwellings,  which 
lie  in  rows  between  such  streets  as  Visita- 
tion and  Beaudry,  or  Wolfe,  or  Montcalm.  It 
is  not  necessary  to  see  the  interior  of  the 
mean  and  dirty  tenements  on  the  Ruelle  Pcr- 
rault  or  the  Rue  Labelle.  The  crumbling 
houses  on  Barrack  and  old  St.  Paul  streets 
near  the  river  would  repeat  to  us  what  we  have 
already  heard. 

Farther  east,  again,  in  Hochelaga,  in  dwell- 
ings not  fit  for  human  habitation,  live  the 
countless  workers  in  mill  and  machine-shop, 
in  factory  and  in  foundry ;  their  wages  re- 
duced year  by  year  by  grinding  competition 
and  tariff-fattened  monopoly,  or  ofttimes  driven 
out  of  employment  entirely  by  the  arms  of 
fast-toiling,  never-wearying  machinery.  In 
these  districts,  not  thickly  populated  like  New 
York,  or  Paris,  or  London,  the  misery  is  scat- 
tered. The  tenement-houses  do  not  raise  their 
hideous  heads  to  heaven  in  endless  rows,  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach.     Often  they  are  semi-de- 


mmmmmm. 


u 


THE   FACTORY. 


tached,  or  in  groups  of  two  or  three ;  but  the 
misery,  the  poverty,  the  sorrow  are  there. 

We  will  not  take  the  visitor  to  the  dense 
and  stifling  lodging-houses  of  the  East  End 
on  St.  Constant  or  Jacques  Cartier  streets, 
where  wretched  men  and  sinful  women  lease 
rooms,  and  live  concealed  from  the  public  eye. 
They  are  there.  To  describe  them  all  would 
be  a  Herculean  task. 

Some  day,  it  may  be,  organized  charity  will 
see  fit  to  look  with  searching  eyes  into  this 
evil  so  widespread  and  serious.  Individual 
effort  is  almost  useless.  The  sad  facts  must 
be  accepted  and  sorrowed  over. 


CHAPTER  HI. 


THE    FACTORY. 

It  may  truthfully  be  said  that  as  most  fac- 
tories are  run  in  daytime  except  at  very 
Dusy  times,  when  they  are  kept  running  at 
night,  the  heading  of  this  chapter  is  rather 
at  variance  with  the  title  of  the  book.     The 


THE  FACtOEY. 


25 


reader  may  thus  be  reminded  of  the  book  by  a 
forgotten  author  who  in  beginning  a  chapter  on 
'*  The  Snakes  of  Ireland  "  prefaced  it  by  say- 
ing "there  are  no  snakes  in  Ireland,"  and  he 
may  complain  thereat. 

Should  these  objections  be  carried  out  to 
their  legitimate  conclusion,  the  title  of  this 
sketch  would  not  apply  to  sundry  other  chap- 
ters. We  could  make  a  rcductio  ad  absurdum 
and  find  that  the  main  streets  of  Montreal  for 
many  years  have  been  lighted  by  electric  light, 
and  much  of  our  edifice  so  patiently  con- 
structed would  thus  be  demolished  almost  at  a 
word. 

The  objection  would  have  no  foundation  in 
sober  ear.iest.  In  using  the  title  "  Montreal 
by  Gaslij.;ht"  the  endeavor  was  made  to  at- 
tract attention  to  the  darker  side  of  our  city 
life,  to  expose  its  sin,  its  shame,  and  its  sorrow 
as  with  a  limelight,  and  to  stir  up  our  citizens 
to  seek  a  ^emedy  for  each  particular  evil. 
Had  we  the  spear  of  Iihuriel  that  we  might 
illumine  with  cekstial  fire  each  subject  we 
touched,  the  heavenly  light  would  be  none  too 
bright,  none  too  strong. 


26 


THE   FACTOKY. 


The  stranger  standing  upon  Mount  Royal, 
and  seeing  the  fair  city  sleeping  at  its  slope, 
could  not  fail  to  notice  the  number  of  tall 
chimneys  rising  heavenward  in  the  clear  blue 
of  the  Canadian  sky.  Were  he  a  man  of  ob- 
servation and  thought,  he  would  say  to  him- 
self: 

"  Here  is  a  city  where  Vulcan  forges  in  many 
places,  where  Commerce  centres  and  distributes 
tiie  wares  of  weary  toil.  In  its  thousands  of 
factories  and  workshops,  its  mills  and  its 
foundries,  are  crowded  the  poor  of  every 
class,  of  many  nations,  and  of  all  ages.  Their 
condition,  social,  mental,  moral,  aaid  physical, 
will  be  of  interest  to  me.     I  will  visit  them." 

It  is  no  subject  for  congratulation  to  Mon- 
treal that  in  some  respects  the  state  of  its  la- 
boring population  is  better  than  in  the  larger 
cities  of  the  world.  There  are  not  in  Mon- 
treal any  5uch  human  beehives  as  in  the  cigar 
factories  and  clothing  houses  of  lower  New 
York,  but  there  is  a  depth  of  ignorance,  of  un- 
progressiveness,  in  the  ranks  of  the  toilers  of 
the  East  End  of  London,  which  would  open 
the  eyes  of  iie  cultured  West-Ender. 


THK   FACTORY. 


27 


It  may  sound  unfair  and  biassed  to  speak 
against  the  state  of  the  French  Canadian  popu- 
lation of  the  Faubourg  de  Quebec,  but  the 
facts  are  there.  By  some  their  condition  has 
been  charged  to  account  of  the  mother  church, 
whose  poHcy  of  repression  in  reHgious  thought 
has  caused  a  positive  stagnation  in  matters 
secular.  It  may  be  that  the  wishes  of  the 
priesthood  with  regard  to  the  advisability  of 
early  marriages  has  caused  this  arrest  of  physi- 
cal progress.  Certain  it  is  that,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, the  advanced  workers,  the  promoters, 
the  pioneers  in  lower  Canada  have  been  the 
English,  and  the  classes  who  compose  the 
manufacturing  woikers  of  the  East  End  of 
Montreal  have  been  left  far  behind  in  the  race 
for  progress. 

Living  in  the  latter  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century  as  he  does,  the  French  Canadian 
worker  of  Montreal  is  still  indeed  "lenfant 
de  I'ancien  r^^gime."  He  walks  with  us  and 
works  for  us,  but  his  thoughts,  his  habits,  and 
his  ideas  are  two  centuries  behind.  Living  in  a 
land  where  religious,  literary,  and  moral  and 
mental  progress  arc  nt  rly  at  the  highest  point 


28 


tllE  FACTORt". 


of  development,  he  does  not  take  advantage  of 
his  position,  but  remains  stationary. 

Far  in  the  East  End  of  Montreal,  an  enor- 
mous five-story  brick  building  spreads  its  hid- 
eous length  along  the  shores  of  old  St.  Law- 
rence. The  hideous  noises  proceeding  there- 
from attract  at  once  the  attention  of  the 
passer  by.  It  is  a  cotton-mill,  created  by  a 
protective  tariff,  and  fostered  by  the  care  of  the 
capitalist. 

Within  its  bare  walls  the  busy  toilers  sit  in 
stifling  air,  and  work  until  nightfall.  If  it  be 
true  that  man  must  work,  then  work  under 
these  conditions  is  not  so  hateful.  Upon  the 
faces  of  its  many  workers  can  seldom  be  read 
the  sign  of  starvation  :  it  is  fair  at  the  surface. 

But  let  us  look  deeper.  Here  sits  a  man  a 
shade  paler  perhaps  than  his  fellows,  but  not 
otherwise  noticeable.  His  face,  essentially 
French,  marks  him  a  descendant  of  the  original 
invaders  of  the  land,  and  it  bears  the  imprint 
of  care.  He  knows  that  a  reduction  of  hands 
is  threatened,  and,  if  it  comes,  he  must  go. 
Over-competition  has  spoilt  the  business  of 
late  years,  and  the  periodical   reduction   will 


THE   FACTORT. 


29 


likely  come  around.  He  .vill  be  unprepared. 
At  home  a  wife  and  six  children  wait  for  him. 
Upon  the  wages  paid  him,  his  family  and  him- 
self barely  exist ;  saving  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

Now  and  again  the  question  enters  his  mind  : 
Why  is  there  trouble  ahead?  If  he  had  not 
married  young,  life  would  be  comparatively 
easy  for  him.  Well,  he  married  early  because 
his  father  did,  and  his  grandfather  before  him, 
and  '!ie  Church  encouraged  him.  True,  his 
ancestors  did  not  work  in  a  stifling  factory, 
but  were  tillers  of  the  soil ;  but  he  forgot  that 
when  he  married.  Is  it  the  fault  of  the  fac- 
tory for  not  paying  better  wages?  Be  it  as  it 
may,  the  outlook  is  far  from  cheering. 

But  his  case  is  indeed  insignificant  when 
we  look  deeper  and  further. 

One  of  the  most  profitable  industries  in 
Montreal  is  the  business  of  cigar-making. 
There  is  little  or  no  tenement-house  work  done 
at  this  date,  but  what  of  the  factories  ? 

Let  us  visit  them.  The  attempt,  if  success- 
ful, will  not  be  without  interest. 

On  this  head  let  justice  be  done  first,  that  no 


fm 


30 


THK   FACTORY. 


J  ■■  I 
V  ' 

M 


'*'-:> 


man  may  suffer  undeserved  loss,  even  in  the 
estimation  of  humanity.  There  is  one  factory 
in  Montreal, — the  largest  in  Canada, — situ- 
ated not  far  from  the  Theatre  Royal,  where 
injustice  and  misery  are  not  known,  where 
cleanliness  is  as  marked  a  feature  of  the  estab- 
lishment as  its  opposite  at  the  majority  of  sim- 
ilar factories.  Its  owner  is  to-dav  rich  and 
respected,  and  his  money  has  not  been  made 
through  the  tears  and  privations  of  his  fellows. 

Ouitc  recentlv  a  labor  commission  was  ap- 
pointed  to  sit  in  Montreal  and  sift  the  evi- 
dences of  unfairness,  injustice,  uncleanness, 
immorality,  and  unhealthiness  of  the  various 
labor-employing  establishments  of  Montreal. 
First  upon  the  black-list  of  dishonor  stood  the 
cigar  factories. 

Commission  was  appointed  to  sit  in  Mon- 
treal and  sift  the  evidences  of  unfairness,  in- 
justice, uncleanness,  immorality,  and  unhealthi- 
ness of  the  various  labor-employing  establish- 
ments of  Montreal.  First  upon  the  Black 
List  of  Di;:honor  stood  the  cigar  factories. 

What  four  revelations  came  as  a  result  of 
that   commission, — what  heartrending  stories 


I- 


,*  ,4 
*       -J. 


THE    FACTOKi:. 


81 


of  unfair  wa^cs,  unjust  fines,  inhuman  over- 
seers, and  unhealthy  factories  !  What  man  can 
read  the  sad  story  of  wrong  done  by  employer 
to  employed  without  realizing  the  truth  of  the 
lines  that 

"Man's  inhumanity  to  man 
Makes  countless  thousands  mourn." 

Aye  !  did  they  read  of  the  child-labor  and 
its  sad  results  in  Montreal's  cigar  factories  they 
would  weep  their  eyes  dry.  Did  they  know  of 
the  danger  to  body  and  mind,  to  the  health  and 
morals  of  the  employees  of  these  Canadian 
galleys,  ground  down  by  grasping  employers 
and  abused  by  brutal  ov^erscers,  they  would 
have  realized  that  within  their  own  city  was  a 
white  slavery  worse  than  the  darkest  hours  in 
the  South  befor"  the  war. 

The  Labor  Commission  has  done  much  to 
improve  the  condition  of  the  toilers  in  the 
many  cigar  factories  of  the  city.  The  Cigar 
Makers'  Union  has  lent  a  helping  hand,  and 
yet,  while  much  has  been  done,  more  remains. 

If  we  can  pass  the  Argus-eyed  guardian  who 
watches  the  factory  door,  and  effectually  pro- 


.'J£  A*--*^ 


32 


THE  FACTORY. 


vides  against  violation  of  the  notice  which  so 
boldly  stares  us  in  the  face,  "  Positively  no  ad- 
mittance," we  will  form  ourselves  into  a  com- 
mission of  two  and  investigate  for  ourselves. 

Past  the  door,  up  two  flights  of  dark  and 
narrow  stairs,  v/e  hear  the  sound  of  machinery 
and  the  hum  of  voices.  Ere  we  have  time  to 
fully  appreciate  the  consequences  to  the  em- 
ployers of  a  fire  in  such  a  death-trap,  we  see 
before  us  one  of  the  work-rooms. 

Here,  in  stifling  air  foul  with  odors  of  to- 
bacco, machine-oil,  perspiration,  and  a  thousand 
other  evil-smelling  substances,  are  seated  the 
slaves  of  the  leaf.  Young  and  old,  women  and 
men,  boys  and  girls,  from  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning  until  six  o'clock  at  night,  with  one 
short  hour  for  dinner,  they  toil  for  three  dollars 
a  week  and  sometimes  two.  There  are  no 
toilet  appliances,  no  fire  escapes,  no  facilities 
for  ventilation  :  there  is  nothing  but  work  and 
a  brutal  foreman  to  enforce  it. 

Of  the  facts  brought  to  light  by  the  Labor 
Committee,  we  must  take  but  passing  notice. 
The  brutal  beatings,  the  want  of  privacy  be- 
tween the  sexes,  and  the  unjust  finings  and 


THE  FACiORr. 


88 


Imprisoriment  in  the  Mack  holes  are  almost 
done  a\v^;-  with  ;  bul  liie  abuses  of  improper 
ventilation,  the  want  of  fire  appliances,  and 
the  like,  remain  unto  tliis  clay. 

It  is  not  alone  of  cotton-mills  and  cigar  fac- 
tories that  we  might  write.  Hardly  any  class 
of  manufacturing  in  Montreal  but  has  its 
abuses. 

Walk  thrc  gh  the  boot  and  shoe  factories, 
the  house .  where  ready-made  clothing  work  is 
farmed  out,  the  type-foundries  and  printing- 
houses,  and  the  thousand  other  industries  of 
the  city,  and  everywhere  can  be  learnt  the  same 
lesson.  From  e  ery  branch  of  toil  comes  the 
sad  story  of  long  hours,  unsteady  work,  low 
wages,  and  improper  treatment — in  a  word, 
the  slavery  of  labor  and  ignorance  to  capital 
and  enterprise. 

It  does  not  come  within  the  province  of 
such  a  book  at  this  to  advocate  or  even  suggest 
a  remedy  for  this  sad  state  of  affairs.  It  should 
be  sufficient  that  we  draw  attention  to  the  facts. 

But  a  few  words  ere  closing  this  subject, 

Montreal  to-day  is  growing  fast.  Within 
her  boundaries  are  livincr  nearly  two  hundred 


di 


d4 


THK  FACTOBT. 


thousand  souls.  Situated  as  she  is,  at  the  head 
of  navigation,  and  being,  as  she  is,  the  head- 
quarters of  two  of  tiie  largest  railway  corpora- 
tions in  the  world,  Montreal's  rranufacturing 
interests  must  grow  apace.  The  number  of 
her  toilers  in  the  vineyard  is  increasing  daily. 

But  is  their  condition  improving?  Will 
labor  in  Montreal  throughout  the  coming  years 
be  happy,  or  will  it  follow  in  the  footsteps  of 
labor  in  the  United  States. 

In  New  York,  Boston,  and  Chicago,  the 
condition  of  the  poor  is  indeed  sad.  Crowded 
by  pauper  immigration,  ground  down  by  the 
powers  of  combined  capital,  and  too  often 
aiding  in  his  own  downfall  by  supporting  the 
corner  saloon,  there  are  many  pitiful  tales  to 
be  read  in  the  factories  over  the  border. 

And  yet  signs  are  not  wanting  that  com- 
bined labor  iS  beginning  to  feel  that  it  has 
rights  which  even  capital  must  respect.  It 
pleads  for  them  now  with  hunger-faint  voice 
and  plaintive,  toil-worn  faces. 

It  may  be  that  some  day  labor  will  raise  and 
demand  that  for  which  it  now  pleads.     That 


■M 


i 


THB   HOtTSB  OF  ASSIOKATIOK. 


i0 


demand  will  mean  riot,  strike,  and  even  civil 
war. 

America  is  slowly  drifting  thither.  Why 
not  Canada  ? 

And  if  Canada,  where  will  the  trouble  begin 
but  in  Montreal  ? 

Think  over  this. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


■w] 


THE   HOUSE    OF    ASSIGNATION. 

It  would  be  idle,  if  not  criminal,  to  suppose 
that  any  city  of  the  size  of  Montreal  would 
be  free  from  the  cardinal  sin  in  its  darkest  as- 
pect. There  are,  it  is  true,  no  Harpies  of  the 
kind  read  of  in  American  papers  as  living  out 
their  shame  in  New  York  or  Chicago.  In 
Montreal  there  are  no  dens  where  innocence 
is  sold  to  evil  by  guilty  and  shameless  parents, 
and  the  sad  tragedies  of  modern  London  are 
seldom  witnessed  in  our  midst.  We  have  no 
Minotaurs,  like  modern  Babylon,  to  be  printed 


:^^\¥'<V''M'iiV'''s.;.a*'iit- 


I! 


M 


TH«  HOtrsB  OP  AMtr.^ATlO!^. 


by  notoriety-seeking  journals  of  the  PaU  Mall 
Gazette  stamp. 

But  for  all  this,  shall  we  say  that  Montreal 
has  only  its  ordinary  vices? 

Such  a  statement  would  be  far  from  the 
truth.  Outwardly,  Montreal  is  virtuous — this 
cannot  be  gainsaid  ;  but,  behind  the  scenes, 
strange  sights  are  witnessed. 

It  may  be  that  in  our  colder  Canadian  cli- 
mate, the  young  men,  occupied  as  they  are 
all  day,  and  devoted  to  athletic  sports,  have 
often  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  to 
devote  to  those  pursuits  affected  by  the  young 
men  and  old  beaux  of  New  York.  In  Mon- 
treal, ciiippie-chasing  has  not  reached  the  dig- 
nity of  an  occupation,  and  its  followers  are  but 
amateurs,.     It  is  well. 

Strolling  down  St.  Catherine  Street  from 
Peel  Street,  past  the  Queen's  Hail  Block  to 
Blenev  Street,  the  strai,<Tfer  cannot  fail  to  be 
impressed  with  the  number  of  young  men  and 
young  women  walking  up  and  down,  and 
chatting  as  gaily  as  Parisians.  This  is  the 
evening  promenade  of  the  better  classes. 

Down  Bleney  Street  to  Craig,  the  wanderer 


(M 


THE   HOUSE   OF  ASSIGNATION. 


$1 


turns  his  steps,  along  Craig  (the  local  New 
Jerusalem),  St.  Lawrence  Main  Street,  and 
over  upon  that  famous  thoroughfare,  he  real- 
izes that  he  is  upon  the  local  Sixth  Avenue. 

There  can  be  no  mistaking  the  faces  of 
many  of  the  promenaders.  They,  in  the 
American  vernacular,  would  be  called  "yel- 
low." 

In  front  of  low  saloons  and  cigar  stores  of 
questionable  repute,  are  gathered  in  knots  the 
i<lle,  the  ignorant,  and  the  vicious  of  Mon- 
treal's French  population.     Who  are  they  all? 

They  are  the  innumerable  members  of  the 
family  of  "ne'cr-do-wcels,"  who  find  here  a 
stamping-ground  ;  petty  clerks  out  of  employ- 
ment, skin  gamblers,  petty  storekeepers,  and 
a  hundred  other  specimens  of  the  wastes  and 
burdens  of  society. 

Of  the  women  who  float  up  and  down  the 
pavements  of  this  famous  street  at  nightfall, 
much  might  be  written,  and  much  more  is  un- 
reportable.  Many  are  honest,  respectable  wo- 
men, the  wives  of  hard-working  husbands, 
shopping,  or  taking  fresh  air  at  the  close  of 
the   d;'y.      The  great  majority,  however,  are 


i  < 


1 


88 


THE    HOUSE    OP   ASSIGNATION 


\    I 


either  the  women  whom  Mercy  Merrick  has 
described  as  "  driven  from  want  to  sin,"  or 
else  young  girls  who  have  foolishly  preferred 
the  idle  pleasure  of  an  hour  to  the  strait  and 
narrow  road  of  virtue. 

Around  this  district  are  the  fashionable  "  re- 
treats" of  Montreal.  It  is  the  "  Tenderloin 
Precinct,"  and  the  streets  which  form  this  sec- 
tion of  the  city  have  anything  but  a  savory 
reputation. 

St.  Charles  Borrome(3,  St.  Dominique,  St. 
Constant,  and  St.  Elizabeth  Streets,  running 
north  and  south,  and  Vitre,  Lagauchetiere,  and 
Mignonne  Streets,  running  east  and  west,  con- 
tain much  of  the  social  vice  of  the  citv.  The 
"castles,"  if  not  precisely  "gilded  palaces  of 
sin,"  as  the  New  York  establishments  are  gen- 
erally described,  are  in  many  cases  rttractive 
within,  if  not  inviting  without.  Seldom  or 
never  as  in  larger  cities,  on  the  walls  of  such 
places  do  we  see  the  card  bearing  the  signifi- 
cant legend  of  "  Furnished  Rooms,"  but  their 
reputation  is  known  to  police  and  public  for 
years  past. 

Upon  a  certain  corner  of  Dorchester  Street, 


i 

m 


THE    HOUSE    or   ASSIGXATIOX. 


SO 


not  far  from  St.  Lawrence  Main  Street,  is  a 
solid-looking  brick  house.  Here  for  many 
years,  and  until  very  recently,  liv^ed  the  acknowl- 
edged jueen  of  the  local  demi-monde.  By  a 
strange  fatality,  the  house  is  now  occupied  as 
a  Woman's  Sheltering  Home.  If  those  walls 
had  tongues,  they  could  a  tale  unfold  which 
would  startle  the  present  occupants. 

For  ten  years  past,  this  woman  reigned  as 
the  first  in  that  special  branch  of  illegitimate 
industry.  By  what  merit  she  has  been  raised 
to  that  bad  eminence,  does  not  appear  ;  but> 
certain  it  is  that,  had  the  police  cast  their  nets 
there  any  night  in  the  week  during  her  sove- 
reignty, they  would  have  made  a  rare  catch. 
Fast  bank  clerks,  prominent  young  lawyers, 
and  well-known  French  merchants  formed  the 
retinue,  and  drank  night  into  day. 

How  sad  a  tale  could  be  told  of  this  house! 
How  many  foolish  young  women  could  point 
to  it  with  a  look  that  spoke  everything  !  How 
many  faithless  wives  played  a  part  herein  1 

"The  same  sad,  wretched  story  that  for  ages  bards 
have  sun<f, 
Of  a  woman  weak  and  willing  and  a  villain's  tempt- 
ing tongue," 


40 


THE    HOUSE    OF    ASSIGXATIOy. 


There  is  no  need  to  say  more.  The  story  is 
always  old  and  always  new. 

To-dav  this  wortian  is  mistress  of  a  similar 
establishment.  Free  from  police  or  official  in- 
terference, she  flourishes  like  the  green  bay-tree 
of  Scripture,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  her 
former  residence. 

Another  establishment,  not  less  infamous, 
reared  its  impudent  head  to  the  sunlight,  upon 
St.  Lawrence  Main  Street.  A  more  or  less 
fashionable  milHnery  store  occupies  the  base- 
ment, and  its  signs  have  the  name  of  the  owner 
of  the  entire  concern. 

The  millinery  business  was  but  a  blind.  No 
woman  need  be  ashamed  to  enter  a  millinery 
store.  Once  there,  a  few  steps  toward  the  rear, 
an  ornamented  wooden  partition  passed,  and  a 
flight  of  stairs  led  to  the  fools'  paradise  above. 
How  many  have  ascended  that  stairway  in 
guilty  fear  ?  how  many  have  descended  in  sad 
regret  ? 

The  lady  patrons  being  thus  provided  for, 
the  gentlemen's  wants  had  to  be  met.  For  a 
man  to  enter  a  millinery  store  on  St.  Lawrence 
Main  Street  might   attract  attention ;  and  at 


THE   HOUSE    OF   ASSIGNATION". 


i1 


night  it  would  have  attracted  attention  to 
keep  open.  Thus  it  came  that  "  madaine  "  be- 
thought her  of  a  rear  entrance. 

On  St.  Dominique  Street,  near  Dorchester, 
an  unpaintcd  and  unvarnished  door  claimed 
no  attention  from  the  passer-by.  If  noticed, 
it  would  only  be  considered  as  leading  into  a 
yard. 

Many  knew  different.  This  insignificant 
and  harmless-looking  door  led  into  a  covered 
passage  running  through  the  yard  and  into  the 
house  of  which  the  millinerv  store  was  hut  an 
outside  blind.  Could  any  contrivance  be  more 
simple  or  more  secret — a  millinery  store  in 
front  and  a  door  leading  apparently  into  a 
yard  in  rear  ? 

How  many  of  Montreal's  bravest  and  best 
knew  of  this  notorious  spot?  How  many  of 
the  local  '*  four  hundred  "  had  entered  through 
that  narrow  gate  ?  The  "  madame"  alone  could 
tell. 

To-day  this  woman  lives  in  a  gorgeously 
furnished  house  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
her  former  residence.  The  back  of  her  house 
commands  a  view  of  a  public  s(^uare,  and  it 


42 


THE    HOUSE    OF   ASSIGNATION. 


may  he  that  ere  long  there  will  be,  as  on  St. 
Lawrence  Main  Street,  two  ways  of  getting 
into  this  home  of  Messalina. 

Some  of  Montreal's  most  prominent  citi- 
zens are  not  unknown  to  this  abode  of  Venus. 
A  well-known  printer  and  his  brother,  an 
attach-i  of  a  foreign  service,  a  prominent  mer- 
chant and  leader  in  volunteer  military  circles, 
a  prominent  man  about  town,  separated  from 
his  charming  wife,  but  still  devoted  to  the  fair 
sex,  the  light-brained  son  of  a  wealthy  wine 
merchant,  the  two  sporting  sons  of  a  retired 
commission  merchant,  and  a  lot  of  card-play- 
ing and  hard-drinking  French  clubmen  for 
years  supported  this  house.  Its  every  foot  of 
car[)ct,  its  every  piece  of  furniture,  is  purchased 
with  tiie  wages  of  sin. 

F^ncouraged  by  the  success  of  these  two  estab- 
lishments, the  frail  ones  moved  like  the  course 
of  empire,  and  westward  took  their  way. 

In  a  more  or  less  secluded  street  not  far  from 
Bleury  Street  the  first  atteinptwas  made.  The 
favorite  of  a  well-known  police  officer,  now  lost 
to  sight  in  the  obscurity  of  the  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul  Penitentiary,  installed  herself  as  mistress 


I 


i 


p 


THK   nOUSR   OF    ASSIGNATIOir. 


48 


of  a  sumptuously  furnished,  if  small,  house,  and 
made  her  bid  for  public  favor.  For  a  time  all 
went  well,  until  one  day  a  nasty  piece  of  scandal 
about  a  young,  pretty,  but  unhappily  married 
woman  and  the  handsome  and  good-natured 
but  useless  son  of  a  retired  banker  got  noised 
abroad.  The  house  had  been  some  time  under 
suspicion,  and  this  was  the  coup  de  grace.  The 
stout  but  still  charming  owner  folded  her  tent 
like  the  Arabs,  and  silently  put  her  effects  into 
an  express  wagon  and  departed. 

For  awhile  this  house  had  realized  all  the 
hopes  of  its  occupant.  Its  respectable  sur- 
roundings and  its  nearness  to  the  fashionable 
quarter  of  the  city,  as  it  were,  "spoke  volumes 
in  its  favor."  But  the  neighbors  gradually 
opened  iheir  eyes  to  the  facts  in  the  case,  the 
scandal  brought  it  into  prominence,  and  the 
owner,  believing  discretion  the  better  part  of 
valor,  retired. 

But  the  establishment  which  was  piw  excel- 
lence the  Mecca  of  high-toned  sinners  in  Mon- 
treal remains  to  be  told  of. 

On  a  side  street,  and  an  eminently  respect- 
able one,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  one  of 


4 


44 


THE    HOUSE    OF   ASSIGNATION. 


M 


the  public  squares  a  simple-looking  and  unsugs 
gestive  two-story  tenement  stood.  Its  appear^ 
ance  was  as  neat  without  as  the  seaside  cottage 
of  the  retired  banker,  and  in  summer-time  its 
open  windows  gathered  in  the  fresh  air.  Its 
entire  look  spoke  of  its  intense  respectability, 
and  the  children  who  romped  about  the  little 
plot  of  grass  in  front,  and  made  a  playground 
of  its  •*  nt  steps,  nodded  and  smiled  at  the 
midd't  -^;  i  but  still  handsome  woman  whose 
ficc  «;howed  itself  at  times  at  the  window.  Her 
distingui^i  v^d  uearirg  and  sunny  face  perfumed 
the  entire  neighborhood  with  the  air  of  honest v, 
and  her  fme  old  Scotch  name  seemed  appro- 
priate to  its  owner. 

But  alas !  for  appearances  she  was  but  a  wolf 
in  slieep's  clothing;  and  behind  tlie  smiling 
mask  were  the  teeth  which  rend,  the  hand  of 
steel  in  the  glove  of  kid. 

The  sign  **  Dressmaker,"  which  stood  out  in 
bold  relief  upon  the  door,  was  sufficient  reason 
for  the  free  occasional  female  visitors,  and  at 
night  no  callers,  male  or  female,  desecrated  the 
quiet  of  the  neighborhood. 

vSham,  sham,  all  sham!    The  women  who 


tJllS   HOtrSB  OF*  A.SSlONATlOJf. 


45 


visited  her  in  the  day-time,  who  rushed  hurried- 
ly up  the  steps  and  through  the  open  door,  were 
but  victims  of  their  own  passions  and  folhes. 

But  their  companions  in  sin, — where  were 
they? 

A  cunningly  concealed  door  in  a  fence  near 
by,  opening  into  the  yard  of  this  house,  but 
shielded  from  view  by  a  convenient  wood-shed, 
solved  the  mystery. 

Amongst  the  supporters  of  this  worst,  be- 
cause safest,  of  the  fashionable  dens  of  the  city, 
hers  claim  particular  attention.  One,  a  broken- 
down  stock- broker,  whose  heavy  failure  a  few 
years  before  had  caused  much  comment,  was,  in 
the  vernacular,  "an  habitual  frequenter."  With 
him  came  another  sweet  sample  of  the  same 
genus,  an  aged  Don  Juan,  senile  and  tottering, 
and  yet  preserving,  even  in  his  decay,  the  hot 
blood  and  passions  of  youth.  In  their  trail 
followed  some  of  the  younger  })loods  of  the 
city,  and  there  was  often  a  sound  of  revelry  by 
night,  which,  however,  did  not  penetrate  farther 
than  the  four  walls  of  the  house. 

There  is  no  space  here  to  record  further  the 
houses  of  this  class  in  Montreal.     Nor  is  there 


46 


THE  BOtrSB   OP  ASSTCNATIOK. 


necessity.  The  evil  would  seem  to  be  insep- 
arable from  every  large  city,  and  Montreal  is 
no  exception. 

Here,  only,  the  business  is  pursued  more 
openly  and  with  less  deference  to  public 
opinion.  For  years  the  same  houses  are  oc- 
cupied for  similar  purposes  and  police,  interfer- 
ence is  unknown. 

This  is  not  as  it  should  be. 

In  this  chapter  mention  only  has  been  made 
of  the  better  class  of  establishments  which  prey 
upon  the  sin  and  shame  of  their  fellow-crea- 
tures. Of  the  others,  no  word  is  necessary. 
From  St.  Lawren-^e  Street  eastward  to  the 
boundary  line  they  are  without  number,  and 
they  blot  their  city's  face. 

But  what  of  down-town  ? 

Upon  St.  James  and  Notre  Dame  Streets, 
from  McGill  Street  east  to  St.  Gabriel  Street, 
how  many  buildings  whose  rooms  and  suites  of 
rooms,  ostensibly  let  for  offices,  are  in  reality 
used  for  immoral  purposes?  How  often  are 
the  first  flats  of  these  buildings  placarded  with 
the  signs  of  "Lawyer,"  "Notary,"  or  "Finan- 


1 


^■^ 


THE   HOUSE    OF    ASSIOXATlON. 


47 


I 


cial  Agent,"  and  the  upper  flats  at  night  given 
over  to  scenes  of  riot  and  debauciiery  ? 

Every  Sunday  the  caretaker  of  one  of  these 
buildings  can  he  seen  with  immaculate  white 
linen  and  shining  silk  iiat  wending  his  way  with 
wife  and  child  to  mass  at  the  noble  parish 
church.  Who,  of  the  hundreds  who  meet  him, 
could  guess  that  his  ine  clothing  is  bought 
with  hush-money  wrun.^  from  the  tenants  in 
his  building? 

And  he  is  but  one. 

Hypocrites,  hypocrites,  hypocrites! 

EUit  after  thus  laying  bare  the  city's  sores, 
what  have  we  to  offer?  What  remedy  would 
we  suggest  ? 

Would  indeed  that  we  knew  ore !  Then 
of  a  surety  would  we  be  wiser  than  all  our  fel- 
lows ;  nay,  than  all  the  human  race  who  went 
before  us  to  the  bright  shores  of  eternity.  The 
problem  is  no  nearer  solution  than  it  was  in 
the  days  when  John  saw  the  scarlet  woman  of 
Babylon  cast  down — in  a  dream. 

Man  cannot  be  made  virtuous  by  legislation. 
It  needs  no  ghost  come  back  from  hell  to  tell 
us  this,  nor  any  brief  sketch  of  city  life  cither. 


48 


ttlE   HOtJSft   Of   ASSWNAtlOW. 


V  I 


ii  1 
li 


Man  and  woman  both  are  born  deceitful  above 
all  things  and  desperately  wicked. 

Still,  back  of  this  dark  picture  is  the  silver 
lining  of  hope.  V^ice,  wc  are  told,  is  a  monster 
of  such  hideous  mien  that  to  be  hated  he  needs 
only  to  be  seen.  It  may  be  that  by  showing 
him  naked  and  horrible,  by  revealing  his  utter 
hatefulness  and  unworthiness,  we  may  save  one 
struggling  and  tempted  wanderer  from  tread- 
ing the  primrose  path  of  dalliance,  and  turn 
his  steps  aright. 

Surely,  young  people,  there  is  another  and  a 
better  life. 

You,  young  man,  who  would  pursue  with  evil 
wish  some  weak  and  helpless  woman,  remember, 

"  The  pretty  toy  so  fiercely  sought 
Loses  all  charm  by  being  caught." 

If  you  would  be  a  man,  think  over  the  unman- 
liness  of  it. 


TBK  MIGHT  RESTAUBANT. 


40 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE    NIGHT    RESTAURANT. 


The  American  visitor  to  Montreal  cannot 
fail  to  be  impressed  with  our  essential  differ- 
ence between  the  Canadian  metropolis  and 
any  of  the  larger  American  cities.  He  looks 
on  every  corner  and  scans  the  occupation  of 
every  block,  but  he  seeks  almost  in  vain  for 
the  well-known,  nay,  too  familiar,  sign,  "  Res- 
taurant." 

The  Montrealer,  as  a  rule,  lives  at  home,  and 
prides  himself  upon  it.  He  aims  to  be  English, 
and  therefore  insular. 

To  him — English  as  the  descendant  of  Eng- 
lishmen— the  idea  of  taking  his  breakfast,  din- 
ner, and  tea  in  public  is  unutterably  repulsive. 
He  fancies,  in  his  conceit,  that  people  are  look- 
ing at  him  and  thinking  of  whr»*-  1  c  is  eating, 
and  he  pictures  himself  the  subject  of  count- 
less jests  by  the  occupants  of  other  tables  sur- 
rounding him.      He   imagines   that   they   are 


i\ 


50 


THE   mOHT  BE8TAURANT. 


watching  his  honest  consumption  of  English 
roast  beef  as  the  visitors  to  the  Zoo  watch  the 
feeding  of  the  animals,  and  make  mental  notes 
thereof;  and  he  declines  the  honor  of  havit 
his  appetite  or  want  of  it  discussed  ;  hr  refuses 
to  let  his  fellow-men  see  the  smile  which 
comes  across  every  Englishman's  face  when  he 
has  eaten  a  well-cooked  meal ;  and  he  denies 
them  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  sigh  of  satis- 
faction which  involuntarily  escapes  him  as  he 
pushes  away  his  almost  empty  plate. 

There  is  another  and  a  better  reason  why 
the  Eno;lish-bred  or  English  descended  Mor 
trealer  declines  to  "  feed  in  public,"  as  ' 
phrases  it.  He  has  been  in  that  bete  noire  to  the 
Englishman,  an  American  restaurant,  and  his 
soul,  and  stomach,  and  good  taste  have  rebelled. 
He  has  satisfied  himself  that  the  American 
nation,  as  a  whole,  not  only  do  not  know  what 
to  eat,  but  do  not  know  how  to  eat. 

An  unspeakable  horror  fills  his  soul  at  the 
thought  of  daily  taking  his  meals  at  the  same 
table,  or  even  in  the  same  room,  with  persons 
who  eat  their  potatoes  with  their  knives,  and 
who  empty  their  tea  into  their  saucers  to  cool 


TUB    NIGHT    RESTAURANT. 


51 


it  before  drinking.  He  has  dined  in  New 
York  a  few  times,  at  Parker's,  Trainer's, 
Brown's,  or  even  Delmonico's,  and  he  has  seen 
on  several  occasions  men  at  table  with  him  or 
near  him  whose  style  of  "  feeding,"  as  he  calls 
it,  was  repulsive  to  his  cultured  tastes.  In  his 
English  hastiness  of  judgment  on  anything  un- 
English,  he  condemnetl  the  eating-habits  of 
the  entire  body  politic  of  America,  and  refuses 
to  allow  his  judgment  to  lie. 

If  perchance  he  is  a  married  man,  the  idea  of 
bringing  his  refined  and  cultured  wife — with 
her  English  birth  and  breeding  written  indel- 
ibly upon  every  feature  of  her  handsome  face — 
to  such  a  mixed  and  unpolished  circle  as  would 
greet  her  in  any  restaurant  is  too  laughable 
for  serious  consideration.  He  has  time  and 
again  seen  Americans  dining  with  their  wives 
and  children  at  the  restaurant  tables  of  New 
York,  but  he  is  tempted  to  deny  the  evidence 
of  his  eyes.  If  he  believes  it  at  all,  it  is  verily 
as  he  believes  in  the  aerial  suspension  of  a 
Houdin  or  a  Hoffmann.  It  looks  real,  but 
there  is  something  untrue  about  it — something 
unreal  somewhere. 


Aa 


THE    N^IGHT   RESTArKANT. 


No,  the  home-destroying  practice  of  restau- 
rant-living lias  not  yet  invaded  the  still  English 
land  of  Canada.  If  he  cannot  afford  a  first- 
ciass  hotel,  the  Canadian,  hachek  r  or  benedict, 
goes  to  a  boarding-house,  where,  if  perchance 
his  fellow-boarders  do  not  all  eat  as  prescribed 
by  the  unwritten  law  of  society,  he  has  a 
chance  to  discover  their  good  qualities  and 
overlook  their  defects  of  training. 

Down  in  town,  it  is  true,  the  restaurants 
flouiish  in  rows.  There  is  no  down-town 
Delnionico's  in  Montreal,  but  where  could 
meals  be  better  served  than  at  Conij^ain's? 
where  can  oysters  be  eaten  with  more  enjoy- 
ment than  at  Freeman's?  or  where  are  steaks 
more  tender  than  at  "  lohnnv,  the  Fat  Bov's?" 

The  night  restaurant  in  Montreal  is  not  in- 
deed a  prominent  featnre  of  the  city.  The 
goriGceous  and  brilliant  establishments  in  New 
York  which  from  ten  o'clock  at  night  until 
dawn  are  tilled  with  fair  women  and  brave  men 
are  almost  unknown.  ThtM'c  is  but  one  first- 
class  theatre  in  Montreal,  to  keep  honest  [)eo- 
ple  up  and  out  until  late  ;  and  the  other  class 
of   supporters   of    niglit   restaurants   in    New 


THE   XIGKT    R  EST  A  m  INT. 


19 


York,  the  demi-monde,  are  not  a  sufficiently 
attractive  lot  to  entice  the  gilded  youth  of  the 
city  into  the  extravagance  of  late  suppers. 

And  yet  there  is  in  Montreal,  a  restaurant  as 
deservedly  popular  with  a  certain  class  as  Del- 
monico's  is  in  the  American  metropolis — a  res- 
taurant whose  steaks  arc  not  less  inviting  than 
Parker's,  and  whose  oysters  are  in  no  way  in- 
ferior to  O'Neill's.  Need  it  he  said,  that  this 
place  is  Beau's,  the  famous  Occidental  ? 

The  Occidental  is  tiie  one  true  glimpse 
of  Parisan  or  New  York  life  in  Montreal. 
Everything  about  it  is  foreign.  The  polite 
and  gentk'manly  manager  who  greets  you  at 
the  door  with  a  "  Bon  soir,  messieurs!"  that  is 
an  echo  of  tlie  Boulevard  des  Italiens;  the 
whitc-aproned  waiters,  whose  "  Que prencz-tioiis 
cc  soir,  mcs's/'-urs,"  is  as  French  as  a  speech  of 
Coquelin  ;  and  the  menu  or  style  which  would 
have  pleased  Vatcl  himself; — are  [ill  si<7ns  and 
tokens  by  which  the  traveller  may  know  that 
he  is  in  a  place  where  gastronomy  is  looked 
upon  as  a  hue  art,  and  where  good  eating  is 
cultivated  as  a  science. 

Truly,  the  stranger  who  steps  trom  the  nar- 


I-   /• 


54 


THE   XIGET   RESTAURANT. 


row  and  dimly-lighted  street,  ill  reputed  and 
foul  smelling,  and  fnids  himself  in  the  neat  and 
tasteful  hall  might  indeed  wonder  if  fancy  is 
not  playing  him  a  scurvy  trick  ;  he  will  think 
for  an  instant  that  perhaps  the  charming  mo- 
tion of  the  sleigh  has  lulled  him  into  sleep,  and 
that  he  is  dreaming  of  his  petit  surprise  at 
Paris. 

The  manager,  the  waiters,  the  setting  of  the 
tal)le,  the  menu,  and  the  suhdued  air  about  the 
place  are  l^arisian  and  Parisian  only.  It  is  a 
restaurant  de  TAvenue  de  I'Opera  transported 
by  magic  to  Montreal. 

The  visitor  to  Montreal  who  has  not  seen 
Beau's  and  tasted  its  famous  cooking  has  not 
seen  Montreal.  Its  natural  beauties  may  have 
been  revealed,  but  here  is  the  art  that  rivals 
nature. 

Some  years  ago,  the  building  situated  on 
Vitrc  street  near  St.  Lawrence  Main  street 
was  occupied  by  one  Cherel.  It  was  tlum  an 
obscure  eating-house,  and  its  reputation  was 
far  from  savorv.  Manv^  were  the  stories  told 
by  the  sporting  element  of  Montreal  of  the 


THE   NIGHT   EESTAUEANT. 


55 


scenes  enacted  after  nightfall  within  its  walls, 
and  it  became  a  by-word  and  a  reproach. 

One  night  the  end  came.  The  local  police 
interfered  and  the  proprietor  was  irrested. 
Brought  before  the  magistrate,  he  was  com- 
mitted for  trial  but  released  on  bail.  He  in- 
viteJ  his  immediate  friends  and  patrons  to  a 
banquet  at  the  old  spot.  His  acquittal  seemed 
to  him  a  certainty. 

Surely,  never  was  such  a  scene  of  revelry  by 
night  in  Montreal.  To  the  banquet  came 
courtesans  of  high  and  low  degree,  politicians 
of  every  grade,  men  about  town,  merchants  of 
queer  )e{)ute,  divorced  women  and  gay  girls  of 
more  or  less  note  ;  in  short,  tlie  drenchings  of 
the  city — the  verv  off-scourings  of  the  metropo- 
lis. At  this  Belshazzar's  feast  no  hand-writing 
appeared  upon  the  wall,  and  Cherel  and  his 
friends  held  iiiiili  revel. 

Tlie  morrow  came.  Upon  another  and  a 
more  serious  charge  than  keeping  a  disorderly 
house  the  infamous  owner  was  convicted  and 
sentenced  to  the  Penitentiary,  and  the  once 
famous  "Cherel's"  was  closed,  never  to  reopen 
as  such. 


50 


TKE   in©HT   RESTAOtAinP. 


Some  time  later  a  change  came  over  the 
place.  It  was  rebuilt  and  refurnished ;  its 
every  evil  association  removed,  and  its  doors 
were  thrown  open  to  the  gourmet,  the  bon- 
vivant,  and  the  lover  of  good  living.  Its  evil 
name  disappeared  with  its  former  proprietors, 
and  to-day  its  reputation  as  an  orderly  and 
well-kept  restaurant  is  second  to  none. 

It  is  now  eleven  o'clock  at  night  ,*  the  thea- 
tre has  been  over  for  half  an  hour,  the  prome- 
naders  upon  the  thoroughfares  have  almost 
disappeared.  Let  us  go  in,  have  a  little  sup- 
per— a  petit  soupcr,  and  look  at  this  picture  of 
Montreal  night-life. 

The  drive  along  the  dark  and  narrow  street 
upon  which  the  Occidental  is  situated  does  not 
till  the  stranger  with  any  hopes  of  comfort  in 
the  immediate  future.  Who,  he  wonders, 
would  try  to  maintain  an  eating-house  upon  so 
unfashionable  and  unfrequented  a  street.  But 
soon  liis  fears  vanish. 

Before  him  stands  a  substantial  stone  build- 
ing whose  lighted  windows  and  opaque  glass- 
globes,  illuminating  each  side  of  tiie  entrance, 
are  strangely  at  variance  with  the  squalid  srr- 


THE   XI6T1T    RT»:STArilA!rr. 


•Y 


roundings.  He  steps  into  the  porch  and 
sounds  the  bell.  The  door  is  opened,  and  be- 
fore him  stands  a  short,  black-bearded  man. 
He  enters  the  passage,  and  a  voice  from  up- 
stairs, faint  as  a  muffled  bell,  !s  b^aid. 

'*  Mesdames  et  messieurs,  descends."  The 
black-bearded  man  politely  motions  us  into  the 
main  room,  the  giand  salon.  The  soft  voice 
the  easy  gesture  is  Parisian — this  is  unmistak- 
able. 

The  door  leadin«,  to  the  passage  Is  closed  be- 
hind us  and  we  looiv  around. 

At  the  nearest  table  sit  two  men.  They  also 
are  French,  but  their  accent  is  not  Parisian. 
It  smacks  of  tiie  Faubourg  de  Quebec  rather 
than  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 

One,  a  short  pock-marked  man,  with  a  ner- 
vous and  shifty  look  in  his  eye,  does  all  the, 
listening,  now  and  then  interjecting  a  remark. 
His  companion,  stout  and  not  '.11-looking.  with 
a  heavy  moustache  and  a  pair  of  expressive 
black  eyes,  is  talking  loud  and  long.  Not- 
withstanding the  publicity  of  their  position, 
they  make  no  effort  to  keep  the  subject  of 
their  discussion  from  the  by-s^^anders.     To  the 


I 


08 


THE    NIGUT   RESTAURANT. 


Frenchmen  standing  near  by,  such  phrases  as 
"Trois  aces"  and  "Deux  Valets/'  "Je  perd" 
and  *'  Je  gagne,"  needed  no  explanation.  They 
were  discussing  some  recent  session  of  the 
American  national  indoor  game,  draw-poker. 

Everyone  knew  them.  The  little  man  was 
by  turns  gambler,  political  worker,  horse- 
dealer,  and  anything  else.  The  other  was  a 
well-known  figure  in  Montreal.  Born  of  re- 
spectable parents,  well  educated,  and  of  more 
than  ordinary  ability,  he  began  life  with  every 
chance  in  his  favor,  ikit,  like  many  others, 
his  beginning  was  too  high.  He  fell,  and  later 
was  content  to  live  upon  the  profits  of  a  gam- 
bling house. 

While  the  visitors  are  glancing  over  the 
groups,  and  ere  they  have  time  to  see  the 
other  occupants,  a  rustle  of  skirts  is  heard. 
The  voices  of  women,  one  low  and  sweet,  the 
other  harsh  and  discordant,  falls  upon  the  quiet 
of  the  room.  A  man's  strong  tones,  a  closing 
of  doors  and  they  are  gone,  and  we  are  ushered 
up-stairs. 

Once  up-stairs,  we  find  ourselves  facing  two 
passages  at  right  angles  to  each  other.    Along 


THE    NIGHT   RKSTAL'RANT. 


69 


1 


each  passage  are  rooms,  and  through  the  tran- 
som over  each  door  comes  the  gleam  of  gas- 
hght  and  the  low  murmur  of  voices.  But  we 
are  not  allowed  to  investigate  further.  The 
polite  waiter  motions  us. 

"  Ici,  s'il  vous  plait." 

We  follow  him  into  a  small  square  room 
with  crimson-tinted  walls  and  an  air  of  neat- 
ness and  comfort,  if  not  elegance,  positively 
charming.  Upon  the  table,  linen  of  finest 
quality  and  snowiest  texture  ;  silver  whose  pol- 
ished surface  reflects  the  gaslight  as  with  a 
hundred  gleaming  darts,  and  glassware  of  the 
latest  style.     Surely  this  is  Paris. 

From  the  splendid  menu  we  order  a  filet  de 
boeuf,  petit  pois,  pommes  de  terre  ci.  la  creme, 
and  cafe  au  lait.  In  a  few  minutes  we  are 
served.  The  aroma  of  the  coffee  fills  the  room  ; 
the  flagrant  odor  of  the  meat  summons  our 
sluggish  appetite.  We  eat,  drink,  and  are 
merry. 

Here,  and  in  such  a  place,  mortals  should 
indeed  be  haj)py.  Despise  as  we  will  the 
art  culinary,  we  must  remember  th  t  the  ques- 
tion as  to     "Where   is  the  man  who  can  live 


60 


THK   K1»HT  BESTAlTEA^n'. 


\ 


without  dining  ?"  is  as  yet  unanswered.  Wc 
must  bear  in  mind  the  saintly  Thomas  ^  Beck- 
et  who,  when  reproved  for  his  fondness  for 
roast  goose,  declared  that  "  so  excellent  a  thing 
was  not  made  only  for  sinners."  And,  lastly, 
we  must  not  forget  that  "  fate  cannot  harm 
the  man  who  has  dined  to-day." 

Without  the  storm  raged,  and  the  driving 
snow  of  the  Canadian  winter  smote  upon  tiie 
window-pane.  Its  invisible  hands  beat  upon 
the  glass  as  if  they  would  fix  their  cold  clasp 
upon  our  hearts ;  but  within  all  is  sweetness 
and  light — no  sorrow  for  yesterday,  no  fear  for 
to-morrow. 

With  curiosity  truly  feminine  we  wonder 
whose  voice  is  that  we  hear  in  soft  accents 
penetrating  the  walls  which  separate  us  from 
our  neighbors  on  cither  hand.  We  long  for 
that  Arabian  spy-glass  which  s(,'es  ihrough  all 
obstacles,  and  sets  walls  and  distances  at  UcUight. 
In  fancy  we  conjure  up  the  smiling  face,  the 
gleaming  teeth,  and  the  fur-clad  form  whose 
voice  ever  and  anon  reaches  us  in  merry  ca- 
dence. 

On  the  other  side  of  us  is  wassail  and  high 


THE  SIGHT  RESTAUniJCT. 


61 


revel.  No  sweet  and  feminine  accents  reach 
us,  but  the  English  of  cultivated  Canadian 
manhood.  Once  in  a  wliile  the  noise  is 
drowned  in  low  and  well-bred  applause,  and 
the  sentences  are  punctuated  with  suppressed 
laughter. 

In  his  review  of  "Robert  Elsmcrc,"  Mr. 
Gladstone  has  pointed  out  the  license  enjoyed 
by  the  story-teller,  the  romancer,  and  the  nov- 
elist. He  is  not  subject  to  ordinary  rules  of 
time  and  space.  He  may  record  a  conversa- 
tion of  two  in  an  open  field,  where  eaves- 
dropping is  impossible  ;  he  may  follow  a  beam 
of  subtlest  reasoning  in  the  mind  of  one  of  his 
characters,  even  if  the  logic  puts  not  on  the 
dress  of  words.  Nay,  he  may  even  see  into 
the  privacy  of  an  apartment,  and  tell  the  story 
of  sighs,  kisses,  and  tears  by  outside  human 
eye  unseen. 

May  we  not  claim  the  same  privilege  ?" 

Granted. 

Then  we  will  enter  unseen  the  little  supper- 
room  on  our  right,  and  view  at  our  leisure  its 
two  occupants. 

At  the  table,  before  a  half-fmished  supper, 


62 


THK  NIGHT  BE8TAUEANT. 


II 


sit  a  young  man  and  a  young  woman.  The 
man's  age  might  be  twenty-five  or  twenty-six. 
He  is  tall,  not  bad-looking,  and  with  that  intan- 
gible air  of  birth  and  breeding  so  Canadian  and 
so  English.  The  neat  clothing,  the  faultless 
linen,  all  showed  the  gentleman,  and  his  voice 
was  soft  and  pleading. 

The  young  woman  before  him  was  assuredly 
not  of  his  own  station  in  life.  She  was  pretty, 
with  sweet,  smiling  eyes  and  white  teeth,  and 
about  her  was  a  look  of  health.  When  the 
eyes  rested  upon  her  they  seemed  to  seek  a 
perfume  of  health  and  honesty  which  should 
belong  to  so  fine  a  creature.  And  yet,  fcr  all 
her  neat  dress,  her  handsome  face,  and  honest 
eyes,  there  was  something  wanting.  It  was 
the  look  of  the  spiritual — that  inheritarce 
from  cultured  ancestry  which  money  cann  )t 
buy,  and  to  which  alone,  in  these  degenerate 
days,  money  pays  tribute. 

Their  story  was  a  simple  one.  The  young 
man,  a  partner  through  the  accident  of  birth 
in  a  wealthy  manufacturing  house,  was  a 
devotee  of  the  fair  sex.  For  the  ordinary 
fcmvie  galante  he  cares  nothing;  but  for  the 


THB   NIOHT   nESTAT'EANT. 


68 


9b 


free-lances  of  society,  the  privateers  who  sailed 
under  the  colors  of  honesty  and  virtue  and 
whose  sins  were  hut  an  excess  of  passion,  and 
who  scorns  the  ways  of  sin,  he  sacrifices  his 
spare  time  and  a  little  of  his  spare  money.  To 
him,  the  pursuit  and  capture  of  some  roving 
cruiser  is  a  {)rize  W(jrth  everything  spent  in  the 
chase.  He  was  but  a  sample  of  a  class  well 
known  in  Montreal. 

The  girl  was  another  of  an  equally  well- 
known  type.  She  wr)rked  in  a  store  on  St. 
CatiuMine  Street,  for,  two  years  ago,  her  hus- 
band had  fled  from  their  home  in  a  small  Cana- 
dian town,  and  she  was  thrown  upon  the  world 
to  fight  the  i)attlc  of  life  alone.  It  did  not 
take  a  clever  girl  like  herself  long  to  fmd  out 
that  in  a  large  city  like  Montreal  she  need 
never  want  amusement.  Her  employer,  him- 
self a  married  man.  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her, 
but  she  soon  wearied  of  him,  and  now  she  is 
listening  to  the  oft-told  promises  of  the  hand- 
some young  fellow  before  her. 

In  the  large  room  upon  the  left  eight  young 
men  are  seated,  in  various  states  of  sobrietv. 
Their  social  position  is  seen  at  a  glance.    They 


1 


64 


THE   IWOnT  RRSTATJBANT. 


are  gentlemen  born  and  bred,  but,  as  in  the 
present  instance,  occasionally  departinp^  from 
the  strict  line  of  proper  conduct.  At  the  head 
of  the  tal)le  a  youno:  man,  in  appearances  the 
juvenile  of  the  gathering,  is  addressing  them. 
As  the  clever  words  fall  from  his  lips  the  listen- 
ers are  alternately  amused  and  interested.  The 
bright  expression  completes  the  ensemble  of 
clear,  honest  eyes,  oval  face,  and  white,  even 
teeth.  Decidedly,  this  ycung  fellow  is  nice- 
looking,  and  clever  at  that ;  and  yet  a  closer 
look  shows  the  want  of  continuity  of  purpose 
— the  man  who  can  work  well,  and  will  work 
sometimes,  but  who  lacks  the  plodding,  tireless 
energy  which,  we  are  told,  is  but  the  higher 
form  of  perseverance  termed  genius. 

Who  are  his  companions?  The  young  man 
occupying  the  seat  directly  opposite  him  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table  is  the  son  of  a  promi- 
nent capitalist  and  railway  magnate.  On  the 
speaker's  right  is  the  last  member  of  a  wealthy 
and  famous  Canadian  family,  whose  name  i"=; 
known  to  every  school-boy.  On  his  'ft  a 
rising  young  lawyer,  a  partner  in  a  pr         .ent 


TIIK    NHJllT    KESTAIRANT. 


65 


firm,  vvli()S<^  partners  wuuKl  have  viewed  his 
present  condition  vvitii  <>rave  displeasure. 

Again  tlie  wine-ghisses  are  filled.  A  younpf 
Englishman,  whose  whist  playing  had  set  the 
tcnvn  talking,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  as  his  cleat 
baritone  began,  "'Pis  all  I  ask  to  be  with  thee," 
the  clink  of  glasses  and  the  whispering  of 
voices  died  away,  fie  was  receivnig  the  high- 
est compliiTRnt  paid  by  any  audience  -worth 
more  tlian  the  loudest  applause— deep  silence. 
He  finished,  and  his  health  was  drunk  with 
three  times  three. 

Still  further  along  the  passage  two  men  sit 
together  in  a  gas-h(\ated  room  atid  talkial 
earnestly.  The  grave,  earnest  face,  the  keen, 
black  eyes,  and  the  hair  worn  longer  than  cus- 
tomary could  hv  recognized  at  a  glance.  He 
was  one  of  the  country's  political  leaders;  a 
seli-made  man,  risen  from  the  ranksb\  sheer 
force  of  ability  and.  the  powers  of  a  silver 
tongue,  lie  was  indied  I'orateur  ptU"  excel- 
lence, the  representative  I'rench-Canadian  poli- 
tician of  the  day. 

But  who  is  this  ill-dressed  and  insignificant 
man  who  listens  as  the  other  persuades  ?    What 


It^ 


66 


THTC    NIGHT    KESTAUBANT. 


has  this  mean  and  ignoranl-Iooking  person, 
whose  looks  bespeak  poverty  of  ideas  as  of 
purse,  to  give  for  wliieh  the  other  asks? 

It  is  hut  the  old  story  of  a  deeeitful  appear- 
ance Behind  the  shallow,  uninteresting  coun- 
tenance is  ability  and  brains;  in  the  ill-iitting 
and  unfashionable  clothing  of  the  minor  per- 
sonage is  the  man  whose  clever  political  arti- 
cles are  read  throughout  Lower  Canada  as  a 
second  Gospel.  His  bitterness  of  invective, 
his  biting  sarcasm,  are  feared  and  detested.  It 
is  he  who  sup|)lies  eitlier  party,  as  it  suits  him, 
with  their  weapons  during  the  session.  He  is 
the  Vulcan  who  forges  the  thunderbolts  for 
the  political  chieftains  of  Canarja.  'ihe  man 
before  him  may  be  the  head  of  a  party,  luit  he 
can  become  the  neck.  For  him  the  ijame  of 
politics  has  few  secrets,  and  lo-moriow  morn- 
ing the  columns  of  L' litcnJard  or  L.a  Minervc 
will  contain  some  unsigned  article  to  becoTie  a 
power  for  good  or  ill. 

For  riches,  position,  or  political  power  this 
man  cares  no^hir  \,  Had  they  been  his  goal, 
he  would  long  before  have  arrived  there.     In 


I 


THE   NIGHT    RESTAITUANT. 


67 


vain  the  astute  chieftain  before  him  seeks  a  re- 


sp 


on 


sive  chord.     Surelv  there  must  be  one. 


Suddenly  his  face  ilhimini-s.  He  leans  for- 
ward and  whispers  in  the  other's  ear,  so  U)W 
that  liad  the  walls  ears  thev  could  know   noth- 


iiiir.     A  smile  like  that  of  Sat 


m  wi 


th  V 


.lUst  in 


his  arms  shines  upon  his  face,  like  the  sun 
upon  new-li;)len  snow.  Wc  jumps  to  his  feet. 
Both  men  flon  their  overcoat';  and  hats,  and 
without  another  word  they  descend  the  stairs 
and  vanish  into  the  night. 

What  shameful  plot  has  here  been  hatched  ? 
what  conlinence  betrayed?  Ali  !  for  the  man 
who  scorns  money  and  power  there  can  be  but 
one  inducement   which  others  may  offer — re- 


venoe 


'I 


o-morrow    morning  some   enemy  s 


na.ne  will  be  [)illoried  forever  in  disgrace,  and 
the  price  will  have  been  paid. 

We  need  go  no  furthei.  It  is  the  same 
scene,  and  it  will  be  to-morrow  night —only  the 
actors  will  be  ilifTereiit. 

There  are  other  niglit  restaurants  in  Mon- 
treal, some  fair,  but  most  of  them  unwortbx  the 
name.  Nt)t  far  from  the  Occidental  is  an 
eating-house   for  the   lower  classes,  open   all 


68 


THE   SALOOX, 


niL;l^^  whtre  suspiciously  cold  and  frothy  tea 
is  served  after  twelve  o'clock.  There  is  the 
I^alais  Royal,  on  Dorciiester  Street  ;  l.ouis,  on 
St.  Catlurine  Street ;  and  the  Delmonico — 
save  the  niaik.  Bui  of  them  little  can  now  be 
recortled  hui  ihe  commonplace.  Their  pairo!is 
are  not  liic  l)(.tt(M'  classes,  and  about  them  th<^ 
romance  takes  on  the  ci^arments  of  po\  erty, 
and  an  occasional  odor  of  onions  and  s>arlic. 


CM  VPTER   VI. 

THE    SALUOX. 

To  manv  of  the  readers  the  heiidini!^  of  this 
ch.iptn"  iiiav  sound  offt^nsivc.  It  will  brin^i^ 
wHh  11  till'  odors  of  the  corner  gm-mill  and  the 
low  grog-shop. 

To  ihcm  only  this  can  be  said  :  The  head- 
ing goes — popular  or  ot Iic-wise.  it  is  the 
onlv  wo'd  c(Mned  whijh  i'l'lly  exf)resses  the 
contents  of  the  ch;ipter.  if  the  word  sab  ton 
offends,  whv  then  insert  gin-mill  or  grog-shoj). 
It  matter^  not.  The  article  itself  retnains 
unaltered. 


TUE    SALOON. 


(39 


But  if  inclined  to  pay  deference  to  the  views 
of  these  ol)jectO)N,  there  is  indeed  another 
heudinor,  rnore  brutal  hut  not  less  true,  nul  less 
descriptive. 

How  would  "The  Curse  of  Montreal"  do? 

Inio  what  deptlis  of  specu.ation  v/ould  that 
title  lead  us  !  What  intricate  j)rol)lerns  of  po- 
litical economy  nri«j;hi  we  not  discuss  I  Back 
of  the  sin.  tin:  misery,  the  poverty,  the-  ruin — 
social  and  moral— (jf  flie  mass  of  the  fallen 
stands  the  h^-ure  of  stronf>-  drink. 

True,  the  Oueen  allows  tiie  trafhc.  It  is 
licensed  at  so  mucli  per  shop  or  saloon,  and  in 
many  cases  the  venders  are  honc;st.  law-ahidintr 
men.  But  what  of  the  majorii)  (j[  the  saloons 
in  N[ontreal  and  elsewhert^  ? 

They  are  hut  j^laces  where  the  adulterated 
and  injurious  li(puds  are  retailed  wholesale  to 
men,  women,  and  children  ;  where  the  drurd<- 
ard  is  niu-ie  dumker.  and  (he  ruin  of  the  indi- 
vidual i->  he^un  and  ended. 

Men  prate  ol  llu-  niillcimium.  li  will  come 
on  the  dav  when  slronii"  think  is  banished  for- 
ever. 

Labor  complains  of  insulTicient  wages — of  the 


10 


THE  bALOOU. 


daily  increasing  price  of  the  necessaries  of  life 
and  the  daily  decreasing  return  for  the  day's 
work.  Let  them  all  abandon  theii  support  of 
the  saloon. 

Capital  complains  that  it  can  no  longer  find 
investment  which  will  return  it  fair  interest. 
Let  it  refuse  to  employ  otlier  than  total  ab- 
stainers ;  let  it  organize  and  establish  coiTee- 
houses,  where  thirst  may  be  assuaged  at  a  nom- 
inal piici\ 

The  day  the  saloon-keeper  leaves  the  city — 
nay,  more  :  the  day  that  the  maimfacturer  of 
strong  drink  is  {>rohibited,  except  under  gov- 
ernncnt  supervision  and  for  medicinal  pur- 
poses— that  day  prosperity  will  shine  upon  our 
Canada  with  undying  lustre. 

A  clever  Frenchman  summed  the  matter  up 
thus : 

"  [n  earlier  years  there  were  two  evils,  wai 
and  pestilence.  Wc  are  better  off  in  this  nine- 
teenth century  :  we  have  only  one  evil — liquor." 

And  such  an  evil ! 

The  mind  shrinks  from   its  contemplation. 

There  is  no  need  to  look  farther  for  the  sin, 

the  poverty,  and  the  misery  of  civilization.     It 


t 


THE  fiALOON. 


71 


is  here,  and  here  only.  From  tliis  parent 
source  all  other  evils  spring. 

With  the  one  possible  exception  of  Chicago, 
no  city  in  America  suffers  in  this  respect  like 
Montreal.  She  is  sore  stricken,  and  maybe 
will  never  recover.  The  cursed  traffic  has  its 
grip  upon  the  city's  throat  and  is  stilling  it. 
Its  energy  is  being  sapjied  away,  and  the  cure 
must  be  used  ere  it  is  too  late. 

The  po})ulation  of  Montreal  and  adjoining 
municipalities  is  al>out  two  hundred  thousand 
souls.  It  has  therefore  a  larger  jKjpulation 
than  Buffalo,  Cleveland.  Detroit,  Louisville, 
Milwaukee,  Pittsburg,  or  Washington,  l^ut 
what  an  admirable  tliirsl  its  inhabitants  can 
boast  of ! 

In  1887  there  were  nearly  fourteen  hundred 
places —hotels,  restaurants,  grocery  stores,  and 
saloons — where  the  retailing  of  li(iuor  was 
licensed.  Think  of  it  !  Fourteen  hundred . 
The  figures  stagger  us. 

This  would  mean  that  there  is  one  saloon  to 
every  one  hundred  and  fifty  inhabitants.  De- 
duct from  this  numbei    \\\v  women  and  chil- 


12 


THE   K/VL(»OX. 


drcn  who  may  be  claimed  as  non-supporters  of 
this  noble  institution,  and  what  remains? 


These    fiirures   stare    us  in   the  face.     The 


y 


speak  with  an  elo(|uenee  whicli  no  man  can  fail 
to  unrlerstand.  They  tell  us  of  man's  daily 
disobedience  and  his  daily  fall — of  his  progress 
toward  failure,  poverty,  and  crime. 

Some  day  Mcjiitrcal  will  awake  and  see  this 
cancer  c-atinir  her  life  awav.  Mav  that  awaken- 
inir  not  come  too  late  ! 

There  is  no-  saloon  better  known  to  the 
sportifiii;  friUernity  throu,<i;hout  the  length  and 
l)readih  of  (.'ana<la  tlian  "The  Suburbnn"  on 
Craig  Street.  There  is  no  man  so  long  ))efore 
the  public  as  u  sport  of  evcrv  kind,  from  running 
a  Hat  wheel  at  a  country  fair  to  managing  aiitv 
mce-meeting.  than  its  proprietor ;  and  it  is  also 
safe  to  say  that  rmaneialiy  no  man  stands  better 
before  his  own  class  than  the  famous  owner. 
I'\'W  hav(,'  hatl  so  varied  a  career.     True,  he  is 


on 


ly 


i( 


a  saloon 


■keej 


)er 


but 


ut-  manv  a  starvinir 


man  who  is  on  his  feet  to-dav  can  say  that  he 
got  a  helping  hand  when  down  on  his  luck 
from  the  neatlv  dn  s'^ed,  hard-smoking  owner 
of  the  Suburban.     All  the  chariiv  in  Montreal 


THE    SALOON. 


78 


is  not  to  be  IcLirned  fioni  the  lists  of  donors 
tu  the  hospitals  published  for  the  public  eye. 
Some  kindnesses  never  see  the  light  of  pub- 
licity. Many  scenes  of  kindness  have  been 
witnessed  around  the  "  Subuiban." 

The  frequenters  of  this  place  are  a  more 
motley  crew  than  FalstafT's  famous  followers. 
All  sorts  and  conditioj^s  of  men  are  to  be  seen 
lierc.  No  sportini^  man  of  anvnote  in  Canada 
or  the  Ignited  States  visits  Montreal  without 
paying  his  respects  here.  Iloisemen,  sporting 
clerks,  gamblers,  all  the  waifs  and  strays  upon 
life's  oc(  an,  have  here  anchored  for  a  time,  if 
cruising  in  the  vicinity.  It  is  almost  a  glim|)se 
of  "ye  olde-lime  Boweiy  saloon"  in  modern 
Montreal.  And  yet  against  this  place,  evil  as  is 
the  traffic  |)ursued,  not  a  word  can  fairly  be 
said.  The  "isitor  is  not  j>oisoned  with  bad 
liquor,  nor  'ostled  by  thii  ves,  nor  can  Ik*  here 
]>rocure  li(ju  )r  alier  hours.  If  ihe  »>roprietor 
cannot  gu  a  ran  tie  the  morals  of  liis  patrons,  he 
at  least  guarantees  their  conduct  while  there. 

One  of  the  most  familiar  figures  here  is  sit- 
ting to-nigiit  watchinga  game  of  billiards.  I  lis 
neat   clothing,  dark  and  quiet,   his  wliile  and 


H 


THE  SALOOJT. 


tasteful  linen,  the  absence  of  jewelry  or  dis- 
play of  anykind,  and  his  modest,  gentknianlv 
hearin^^,  to  the  casual  observer  would  suggest 
the  eonhdential  ckrk  or  junior  partner  in  a  law- 
tirm.  He  would  be  entirely  wrong.  The  calm, 
repressed  young  man  is  a  gambler,  and  one  of 
the  best  known  in  the  country.  Sometimes 
called  "  Little  Johnny"  and  sometimes  "  Jaok," 
he  is  familiar  to  most  Montrealers,  and  his  pop- 
ularity is  very  great.  It  was  rumored  that  last 
summer  he  had  played  the  Saratoga  races  in 
more  than  ordinary  luck,  and  that  in  '*  going 
up  against  the  bank"  his  luck  had  not  forsaken 
him.  Be  that  true  or  not,  he  is  always  in  funds, 
and  seemingly  always  ha{)py.  Should  matters 
run  against  him,  his  name  is  good  to  any 
amount  with  the  fraternity.  "Jack"  is  one  of 
the  characters  of  Montreal. 

Next  him  stands  a  round-faced  Englishman 
with  a  hearty  laugh  and  rough  clothes.  Ue  is 
the  proprietor  of  an  eating-house  far  away,  and 
has  sporting  asj)irations.  So  far  he  has  been 
lucky,  and  it  has  not  cost  him  much. 

On  the  right  two  prominent  horse-dealers 
talk  and  laugh   loudly,  and    against   the  wall 


1 


TUB  RALOOK. 


15 


•d  couple  of  well-known  "  amateur"  lacrosse 
players  discuss  in  an  undertone  the  chances 
for  to-morrow's  gri-at  match. 

"  The  Suburban"  is  in  truth  the  rendezvous 
for  the  Bohemians. 

Of  hardly  less  prominence  in  Montreal  is 
"The  Oxford"  on  University  Street.  Situated 
as  it  is  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  armory 
of  a  fashionable  volunieer  regiment,  it  has 
many  times  assuaged  the  thirst  of  the  amateur 
soldiers,  and  its  place  in  Montreal  is  unique. 

Founded  a  few  years  ago  by  its  j)resent  pro- 
pi  iet  or  with  the  inmicdiate  help  of  a  then  j)rom- 
inent  litjuor  merchant,  it  illustrates  the  whirli- 
gig of  time.  To-day  its  owner,  from  being  a 
poor  nran,  is  comparativi  ly  wealthy,  the  man 
througli  whose  money  the  saloon  was  estab- 
lished has  failed  and  walks  the  streets  of  Mon- 
treal under  a  cloud. 

Hard!)'  less  famous  than  "The  Oxford  "  is 
"The  ('aprains."  Upon  tlw.'  corntM  of  two 
small  and  comjuu'atively  unfrctjuented  streets, 
its  location  would  not  usually  be  coiisidined  of 
the  best,  and  yet,  in  sporting  pari  mce,  "it  is 
a  good  and  strong  game."     It  has  often  been 


I 


76 


IIIR    BALOON. 


rumored  that  "  Tlic  L/aplain's"  was  open  year 
in  and  year  out,  and  that  the  earlier  in  the 
morning  you  ealied  the  earlier  you  would  get 
served.  This  was  a  l)ase  slander.  Here  the 
homeward-l)ound  elerk,  aftt;r  a  night  of  extra 
work,  stops  for  a  so(3tliing  nightcaj) ;  and  iiere, 
with  a  fuitive  glance  around,  the  hushand  stops 
on  his  morning  trip  into  town  for  "a  steadier.' 

No  description  of  Montreal  would  be  com- 
plete without  a  mention  ol  the  "Turf  f louse" 
on  St.  Lawrence  Main  Street.  Its  genial  and 
handsome  pioprictor  is  known  to  ev'Tyl)ody, 
and  has  given  his  tiuK;  and  money  to  'ho  fur- 
therance of  the  trotting  interests  of  Montreal. 
One  of  the  principal  supporteis  of  the  race- 
track at  ilk'  toot  of  Jacipies  Ca  tier  Square, 
and  a  lover  of  racing  in  every  form,  his  name 
is  a  guarantee  of  fair  trottitig  and  no  favor. 

So  fiu.  it  iiiust.  i)f  confessed  tiie  S(M\my  side 
of  Montreal's  saloons  has  not  been  shown. 


So 

far,  we  ha\'c  dealt  t)nlv  with  those  places  wliere 
not  only  the  letter  l)ut  tht:  spirit  of  the  law  is 
fieely  followed, — where  the  vice  has  lost  soirie- 
thinf^  of  its  evil.  W'c  have  dealt  only  with  the 
saloon  evil  in  its  minor  form,  with  places  whose 


THE   SALOON. 


(  / 


[)roprictors  are  in  every  wnv  hiw-iiltiilinfj  and 
consisteiit  citi/cns,  and  we  luive  seen  only  the 
best  siile  of  the  case. 

There  is  another  pietnre  to  Se  drawn. 

Some  of  the  vilest,  lowest,  and  most  infa- 
mous eorner  frin-niills,  low  ,L!:rr)oi::f<'ries,  and 
sliehecns  in  the  wc-rld  are  lieensi-d  hy  licr 
Maj(.'Sty's  government  to  ruin  their  fellow-men, 
body  and  soul.  In  these  places  the  diuukard's 
money  is  never  refused — the  child  is  as  wel- 
come as  the  man. 

These  dens  Mot  the  city's  face.  They  aie  a 
shanii'  and  a  dis<rracc.     Tlu  /  must  ^^o. 

They  lie  alon^-  the  ri\er  front  where  drunken 
sailors,  wharf-rats,  and  sunhsh  carouse  and 
make  merry.  They  can  he  found  in  the  daik 
and  narrow  streets  lendinij^  ufi  fiom  I  he  river, 
where  di-;tilled  poison  and  hKnvcd  rum  are 
served  out  over  dirty  counters  to  dirtier  men. 
They  cAi-^t  in  the  \icinit\  of  the  1\^•o  <rreat  rail- 
way stations,  and  catrh  the  strans^cr's  money 
ere  he  has  time  to  see  a  lodjj^in,i;-housc.  Aloncc 
' it.  Paul  Street  ii!rt\'  hotels  are  suMported  on 
ihc.  jiroiits  of  their  har^,  and  yan*nin<2^  steps 
lead  down  to  cellar  dives — low  as  to  the  char- 


78 


THE   RALOOir. 


actDr  of  their  patrons,  and  vile  as  to  quality  of 
liquor  sold. 

But  what  of  tlio  unspeakable  dens  which, 
viper-like,  open  ificir  dinghy  doors  in  the  eastern 
sul)Ui  bs  of  the  city,  and  in  the  Point  St.  Charles 
district  f  What  oi  the  abominable  saloons 
which  thrive  in  the  vicinitv  of  St.  Constant, 
St.  Dominique,  and  St.  Elizabeth  Streets  upon 
the  irnnvjral  frequenters  of  the  dens  of  infamy 
in  the  neighborhood  ?  Many  of  them,  open  at 
any  hour,  recall  the  worst  days  of  New  Vork 
when  the  Empire,  the  Cremorne,  and  the  Sans 
Souci  were  in  full  blast.  They  see  no  hand- 
some women,  no  silken  gowns;  only  broken 
down  outcasts  and  cotton  wraps.  But  the  evil 
is  there  just  the  same. 

Have  the  inhabitants  of  these  localities  no 
souls  or  bodies  to  save? 

Weary  and  heart-sick,  we  must  turn  from 
this  sul)ject.  It  is  with  sorrow  that  we  bep;an 
it,  it  is  without  regret  that  our  task  is  over. 
In  the  presence  of  the  liquor  evil  the  legisla- 
tors are  powerless.  The  power  is  vested  in 
the  local  authorities,  and  they,  like  Cassius,  arc- 


1 


TQ£    HOI  AK   OF   MEMHAIJNA. 


V9 


reputed  to  have  "  the  itching  palm."  Therein 
lies  the  secret. 

It  may  be  tliat  the  rcfr)rm  will  begin  some 
day  by  having  as  local  legislators  and  commis- 
sioners only  men  whose  position  and  record 
place  them  above  suspicion.  Then,  if  the 
curse  of  strong  drink  cannot  be  entirely  sup- 
pressed, it  can  be  regulated. 

Let  us  ha.ste  the  dav. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    HOUSE    OF    MESSALINA. 

With  sad  heart  and  faltering  hand  the  head- 
ing of  this  chapter  is  penned.  With  many 
readers,  this  is  no  doubt  ex|)ected  to  be  a  sala- 
cious HKjrsel,  which  they  will  roll  under  their 
tongues,  and  read  fu.dvely  in  the  recesses  of 
their  bedrooms. 

They  will  be  disappointed.  No  subject  is 
easier  done  justice  to  in  a  su])erricial  way — • 
none  requires  deeper  thought.  We  cannot, 
from  lack  of  experience  and  ai)ility  do  full  jus- 
tice ;  but  we  will  not  treat  it  lightly. 


80 


TUE    HOUSE    oK    MKSSALINA. 


In  New  \'<)ik,  Chicago,  San  I'Vnncisco,  and 
IIk' larger ciiicsof  the  IJnitc.HJ  Stales  hDoks  have 
hecn  published  hearinir  titles  similar  in  some 
respects  to  the  tiiU;  ol  this  work.  We  have 
had  "  i^aris  l)v  (iasli<»ht,"  *'  New  \'ork  hefore 
Dawn,"'  "Tl>e  Nij^liL  Side  of  New  N'ork." 
"Low  London  Liie,"  iUid  a  thousand  other 
names  to  catch  tlie  eye  of  unexperienced 
youtii.  These  hooks  have  a  re  id\'  sale.  They 
circulate  |)\-  lens  (>f  thousands,  and  many 
a  younfj  uiil  has  dated  her  hrst  step  in  sin  from 
the  day  when  she  lirst  n.-ad  tlie  lecheious  and 
glatin<:ly  unliue  [)ages  of  "The  (}ay  Ciirls 
of  Nevv  ^'ork.'"  or  some  similar  mc^s  of  <;ar- 
bage.  '1  lu;<('  otlVcnurinus  of  deceased  inind.s,  — 
paintino,  as  Ihev  do,  a  lii^ht  side  lo  c\'\  livinjj, 
have  enticed  manv  weak  ones  from  the  j)ath  of 
virtue  to  wa'.k  th'^  slipp(  i\-  road  t  ruin.  Of 
the  dark  and  seamv  sid<\  I  he  jio^'ert\  inevit- 
able, the  health  sure  failing,  and  the  mental  and 
bodily  destruction  ilit  y  aie  sileiii 

The  social  e\  il  always  bus  bf  t-n.  and  aKvavs 
will  l)e,  ;    problem  who-e  solution  in  theory  i 
casv,  but  whose  solution   in   piaeticc  is  impo.- 
sible.     Men  are  burn  with  certain  trails  of  the 


TnK   noURE    OP   MESSAI.IXA. 


81 


animal  in  tlicm.  Mr.  Ed^ar  Saltus  calls  it 
"  The  beast  thai  is  in  us  all.  lashed  down  and 
cowering,  but  waifinj^  for  the  inadvertent  mo- 
ment when  it  shall  spring  to  li^ht  and  claim  its 
own," 

Since  earliest  dawn,  it  ha>  been  a  check  to 
man's  upward,  spiritual,  and  mental  progress. 
The  law  and  tlie  prophets  denounced  it;  the 
Messiah  preached  a<j;ainst  ii;  it  entered  into  the 
visions  of  John,  and  formed  part  of  the  Revela- 
tion of  that  famous  dreamei. 

Ancient  Rome  n'ort^anized  it,  modern  Lon- 
don teems  with  it,  New  \'ork  lomances  upon 
it,  and  Paris  le^ali/es  it. 

What  does  Montred  do?  It  lejj^islates 
against  the  social  t\il.  Hut  the  law  is  a  (U-ad 
hotter.  It  is  s(;ldom  put  into  i>ractice,  and  to- 
day in  Montreal  the  vile  t-afl'ic  is  jMcsented  in 
twenty  different  dins,  and  has  been  "  doing 
business  at  the  samr  *<fand"  for  ten  years. 

Fron  present  appearances,  they  will  e(»ntiniie 
unmolested,  save  bv  ni  occasional  line,  foi 
twenty  years  more. 

These  houses  are  known  to  tveiy  pojicemar* 
and  detective  oflker  upon  the  local  force.     At 


83 


Till:    HOUSE    OF    MKSS.VMVA. 


night,  in  front,  of  their  doors,  can  often  he  seen 
a  half  u  tiozen  carriages  waiting  while  the  late 
occupants  carouse  within. 

The  question  now  arises.  Is  this  cc^mpromise 
with  vice  rigi>t  ? 

No!  decidedly  no  ! 

Sliould  this  unlicensed,  unlawful  traffic  be 
permitted  ? 

No ! 

The  middle  grc  und  taken  by  the  authorities 
of  Montreal  with  regard  to  this  (juestion  is  il- 
logical and   indefensible  in   law,  in  reason,  and 


in  mora 


lit 


It  is  admittedly  an  evil.  Then  it  should  not 
be  permit  ted.  It  should  be  driven  from  with- 
out the  cii\  walls,  and  the  scarlet  woman  should 
no  longer  air  her  shame  and  her  in  lam  v  upon 
our  streets,  noi  destroy  the  (juiet  of  res()ectable 
neighl)orhoods. 

Gran: -hI  it  is  aji  evil,  say  some,  but  it  is  a 
necessary  evil :  it  must  exist ;  and  as  it  must, 
it  is  better  that  its  headqua»*ter*^  should  be 
known  tt>  the  local  ()olice,  for  in  that  way  alone 
can  it  be  kept  under  control." 

If  this  be  true,  then  it  is  better  to  license  the 


THE    HOrSK    OF   MESSALINA. 


Rn 


,1^ 


traffic  :  better  to  suy,  as  President  Cleveland 
did  upon  the  ()uesli()n  of  tiusts,  "It  is  a  condi- 
tion \hieh  confronts  us,  not  a  theory."  It  can- 
not be  denied  that  in  puie  tlieory  the  lieensin<; 
of  any  immorality  is  coniiary  to  law.  reason, 
and  of  course,  moralitv  ;  l)Lit  when  our  youn^ 
men  are  driftinj^  toward  ruin,  it  is  no  time  for 
theory- -action  is  necessary.  'Ihe  lieeusinjj;^  cf 
the  "Ciros  Numeros"  in  Paris  has  not  dimin. 
ishcd  the  immoialiiy.  but  it  has  ver)'  materially 
fiiitigated  its  evil  consv  qu«'nees  from  a  plrv -^i- 
cal,  and  therefore  from  a  political  j)oint  of 
view.  Tlu'  Parisian  has  btcome  healthier,  a<Td 
therefore  a  better  citizen. 

But  in  Montreal  the  evil  consequences  of 
the  tralTic  arc  seen  at  their  darkest.  In  tfiis 
respect  it  is  certain  that  no  city  is  so  cursed  as 
that  which  sleeps  in  metonlit  beautvat  the  foot 
of  Mount  Roval. 

If  you  nvcd  proof,  go  ask  the  physicians  of 
the  city. 

In  cold  blootV  each  year,  a  report  is  made  to 
-police  hcad(|ua  ters  that  there  are  so  many 
houses  of  evd  repute  within  the  city  limits,  and 
so  manv  inmates  of  these  houses.     The  number 


84 


Tm-.'    HOIRK    OP    MKHSAI.TXA. 


varies.  It  has  been  as  high  as  eighty  ;  it  has 
fallen  as  low  as  forty.  Last  rej)ort  made  an 
indefinite  statement  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  "forty-nine."  This  of  course  re- 
fers to  well-known,  established,  so  to  speak, 
houses  whose  inmates  are  permanent  boarders 
numbering  three  or  more.  It  does  not  include 
the  countless  smaller  places  where  working 
girls  go  at  night  to  add  to  their  insufficient 
and  starvation-breeding  wages,  nor  does  it  in- 
clude the  numberless  houses  of  assignation.  Ft 
isonlv  tlie  best  known  and  "  wide  open"  houses. 

Take  the  number  of  castles  in  Montreal  as 
fifty— the  minimum.  It  is  well  known  that 
such  houses  are  compelh.'il  by  bloodsucking 
and  greedy  landlords  to  pay  enormous  rent  as 
"  hush-money."  Take  the  average  rent  as  $600 
per  annum  :  it  makes  $30,000.  Allow  each  such 
|)lace  five  persons  -a  minimum-  -and  we  would 
have  two  hundred  and  fifty  persons.  It  costs 
each  one  of  these  an  average  of  $600  per 
annum  to  live.     This  gives  $i5o,ocx."). 

'I'he  grand  result  is  that  in  Montreal  -sanc- 
tioned, connived  at,  fjr  winked  at  by  the  police 
— nearly    two    hundred    thousand    dollars    is 


THE   HOUSE   OV   MErtSAI.INA. 


95 


diverted   from   lawful  uses  to  the  support  of 
imnioraliiv. 

This  is  but  atrifie— a  drn|i  in  ihe  sea.  These 
figures,  sta'iling  as  they  are,  do  not  ref)resent 
the  case  in  anythiuj^  like  its  hideous  truth. 
Any  well-known  dt;teetive  in  Montreal  will 
lead  you  by  night  t  ■  one  luindred  such  moral 
lazar-houses — will  show  vuu  one  thousand 
women  living  in  shame  u))on  the  wages  of  sin, 
and  ihen  ask  if  vou  want  to  see  more. 

And  yet  this  is  a  Chri  aian  country.  Sunday 
after  Sunday  the  Moi.lrealer  goes  to  church 
and  thanks  God  that  he  is  not  as  other  men 
aic.  He  reads — and,  worse,  his  family  of  young 
girls  and  boys  road — th(^  details  of  some  sad 
cases  of  imm(»ral!tv  in  New  V'urk,  London, 
and  Paris,  and  he  is  thankful  tliat  he  does  not 
livi  in  any  such  S(»dom  ami  Ciomorrah.  He 
travels  and  sees  the  painted  creiitures  of  the 
Suand,  the  pronunaders  upiui  the  I'aiis  liouU- 
vards.  and  the  street-walkers  nf  Third  or  Sixth 

Avenue,  tnd    he   rejoic.'s  thai    h«.   l>elongs  to  a 

'titer  and  ir.ore  moral  city. 

Nay.  fimniest  of  all.  lie  is  called  upon  from 
the  puijMt   to  subscribe  h>  the  Chine'-e  or  Hin- 


■  ■«m:-mmf:^''m 


86 


lUE   IlOUSii    OF   MESSALINA. 


doo  missionary  fund,  when  an  immorality  so 
flagrant  is  at  his  door,  and  a  depth  of  ignorance 
and  vice  as  profound  as  is  conceivable  is  in  his 
own  city. 

In  the  words  of  Mark  Antony,  **  Men  have 
lost  their  reason." 

Oh  for  time  and  opportunity  to  press  this 
subject  and  to  suggest  a  remedy  !  If  we  can 
even  stir  the  stagnant  waters  of  Montreal 
thought  for  one  short  tiny,  this  book  has  not 
been  written  in  vain. 

A  few  facts  in  this  case.  Upon  the  corner 
of  St.  Catherine  and  one  of  its  most  notorious 
cross  streets  stands  a  three-story  stone  building. 
The  corner  l)asement  is  occupied  as  a  restaurant, 
but  two  doors  of  the  cross  street  give  entrance 
to  the  house,  and  a  wooden  door  leads  from  a 
yard  in  rear  into  St.  C-atherine  Street.  The 
appearance  of  the  house  is  entirely  respectalde, 
and  in  justice  it  must  l)e  said  that  the  esLab- 
lishnu'ut  is  run  honestly,  and  no  svvintUing  uf 
any  kind  is  permitted. 

Almost  sine*'  "the  recollection  of  the  oldest 
inhabitant"  the  occui)atioii  of  this  notorious 
spot   has  been   the  same      I' or   years   in   this 


THE   IIOUHU    OF   ME8.SA.LINA. 


87 


! 


house  Messalina  and  IMiryne  have  i»licd  their 
shameful  trade.  It  is  true  that  on  several 
occasions  the  local  j)olice  have  lined  its  land- 
lady the  sum  of  ninety-five  dcjliars  and  costs 
for  selling  liciiior  without  a  license,  and  the 
fine  has  been  cheerfully  paid.  This  sort  of 
"hush-money"  transaction  seems  popula?  in 
official  circles,  and  whenever  the  civic  treasury 
is  low  a  raid  is  made  up(jn  some  of  the  best 
known  houses,  and  they  are  called  upon  to  pay 
toll.  It  IS  pay  up  or  close  up.  The  former 
course  is  invariably  followed. 

T'oi  many  years  this  house  was  owned  and 
run  by  a  notorious  woman  alleged  to  be  the  wife 
of  a  more  or  less  promii\ent  gambler,  whose  es- 
tablishment, not  a  hundred  miles  from  Craig 
Stieet,  will  be  noticed  later.  The  house>  furni- 
ture, and  good-will  of  the  business  are  now  sub- 
let to  another  wonuin.  at  the  trilling  rental  of 
seventy-five  dollars  per  week.  Wfien  an  estab- 
lishmcJit  of  this  kind  can  pay  a  rent  of  thirty- 
six  hundrt;d  dollars  j>er  .inuuni  and  have  the 
lessee  wear  diamonds,  tlu:  business  must  indeeil 
be  valuable. 

Scarcely  less  notorious  than   the  preceding 


88 


TlIK   nOFSE   OF  MFSSAMKA. 


is  the  estabHslimcnt  situated  near  the  rear  of 
'  St.  Lawrence  Market.  It  is  ostensibly  owned 
by  a  namesake  of  th(i  owner  of  the  house  above 
described,  and,  while  not  as  hirge,  is  still  consid- 
ered "a  valuable  property."  Its  red  curtains, 
and  the  line  of  cabs  which  nightly  draw  up  in 
front  of  the  door  after  ten  o'clock,  are  familiar 
to  policeman  and  citi/en  alike  ;  but  it  has  reigned 
undisturbed  for  years  past,  and  there  seems  no 
imm(Kliate  prospect  of  any  change. 

Immediately  around  the  corner,  on  a  dirty 
and  narrow  lane,  stands  another  establishment 
of  a  similar  profession.  A  few  years  ago  this 
place  started  with  four  rooms  :  it  now  occupies 
a  large  house.  Under  immunity  from  police 
intcrferiMice  such  dives  (lourish. 

Threading  our  way  along  this  Little  Queer 
Street,  and  turning  the  first  corner,  a  large 
porch,  a  colored  globe,  and  startling  (^cru  cur- 
tains meet  the  eye,  and  sound'-  of  singing  and 
piano-playing  strike  the  ear  in  unharmonious 
power. 

"  Surely,"  says  the  stranger,  "  I  am  dreaming, 
or  have  been,  and  1  am  back  in  Thirty-first 
Street." 


TTIE    IIOUSB    OP   MRSSALINA. 


80 


Nothing  is  wanting  to  complete  the  picture. 
The  garish  lights,  the  open  porch,  the  music, 
all  unhlushingly  invite  the  wanderer  out  of  the 
cold  dark,  streets  into  the  light.  Within  the 
usual  sights  and  sounds  —they  need  no  telling. 

To  investigate  further  we  need  not  go  far. 
Next  door  has  no  open  porch,  no  colored  lights, 
but  instead  a  darkness  and  quiet  not  at  all  re- 
assuring. A  ring  at  thr  hell,  and  tlic  usual 
wicket  is  opened  and  the  same  catechism  is  gone 
thrctugh. 

Upon  St.  Elizabeth  Street,  not  far  from  St. 
Catherine  Street,  is  another  such  spot —viler 
than  its  fellows.  Of  the  unspeakable  infamies 
of  this  place,  prudence  commands  to  silence. 

Up  St.  Constant  Street  the  temf)les  of  sin  are 
in  rows.  One  hardly  less  unfavorably  known 
than  any  above  described  staiids  in  a  yard  l)ack 
from  the  street.  It  is  approached  by  a  narrow 
board  walk,  and  its  ervironments  arc.  not  cal- 
culated to  cheer  the  seeker  after  illicit  pleasure. 

There  is  neither  space  nor  necessity  to  pursue 
our  investigations  farther.  It  would  serve  no 
good  purpose  to  lead  the  stranger  along  the 
narrow  and  ill-smelling  streets  in  this  (juaiter. 


1 


90 


lilK   UwmK   OV  M£8frilLINA« 


Saiigainet  StPjct.VitiL^  Street,  Mignonnc Street, 
and  twenty  other  St  ret;ts  in  lliis  KuMlity  eoiil.rib- 
ute  their  sihire  to  the  calendai  ui  crime. 

It  is  not  the  East  Rml  alone  which  suiters. 
For  four  years  a  h<iuse  on  Aijucduct  Street  was 
notoriously  a  subject  for  coinplaint  on  the  part 
of  the  neiiihhors.  It  was  strange  indeed  that 
this  quarter,  one  of  the  '(uietest  in  the  city, 
siiouUl  be  compelled  to  submit  to  such  associa- 
tions, bu.  (he  providential  interference  of  the 
Canadian  Pacilie  Railway,  wliicli  claimed  the 
ground  upon  which  this  jMoperty  stood,  and 
destroyed  it,  caused  a  removal.  'Ihe  keeper 
transfcned  hersell  and  her  stock-in-trade  to  St. 
I'rban  Street,  and  in  a  splendidly  furnished 
liouse  whose  re:  r  oralleries  overloctk  Dntferin 
Sijuart;  she  pursues  unmolested  her  j^roliiable 
calling. 

St.  Antonie  Street,  staid  and  respectable,  was 
also  invaded  Ity  the  "  ho;  1/ontales,"  but. their 
sojomii  was  brii.'f. 

To-day  almost  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the 
Windsor  Hotel  is  a  bagnio  of  whose  existence 
few  are  aware.  The  visitors  are  few  and  (piiet  ; 
no  lights  gleam  through  its  closely-drawn  cur- 


THE    HOUSE    OF  MJiSSAI.LNA. 


91 


tains;  no  carriap^cs  halt  at  oi^ht  in  front  of  its 
door.     Its  entire  appearance  is  eminently  re- 


spec 


tal)l< 


JUit  careful  reci^nnaissance  of  the  fence  sur- 
rounilin*^  it  and  facinj^  Uj)on  an  unv}ccu|)ied 
plot  of  ground  would  reveal  a  cunningly  con- 
cealed gate.  Opened,  a  passage  is  before  you 
and  you  are  swallowed  u|)  from  the  sight  of  the 
outside  \V(jrld. 

This  place  is  an  echo  of  Forty-first  Street 
and  "  The  Studio."  Rich  hut  tastefully  chosen 
furniture  t)rnanient'"  the  rooms,  delicate  per- 
fumes Ml  the  air.  and  an  atmosphere  of  re- 
fmcnient  is  about  us.  Mere  is  danger— here  is 
vice  not  less  vicious  because  alluring  and 
scented.      It  is  only  more  pleasant. 

The  demi-fnonde  of  Montreal  is  the  olT- 
scourings  of  New  V(^rk  and  Chicago  and  the 
drenchings  from  our  own  gutters.  Most  of  its 
component  parts  are  diunkcji.  uneducated,  and 
low-b(jin.  In  most,  cases  they  have  not  even 
physical  attraction  to  plead  their  sad  case. 
There  is  no  glamour  to  be  cast  upon  this  side  of 
Montreal  life.     It  is  vile  and  repuKive  to  any 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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92 


THE   HOUSE   OF  MES8AXINA. 


one  with  feelings  or  culture.  It  holds  out  no 
attraction  to  the  hetter  class  of  young  men. 

But  the  middle  class  must  be  considered. 
Only  rarely  would  they  enter  such  places,  ex- 
cept when  under  the  influence  of  the  enemy 
which  steals  away  men's  brains ;  but  even  to 
enter  once  is  once  too  many.  These  houses 
are  a  meeting-ground  and  a  refuge  for  the  low, 
the  idle,  the  vicious,  and  the  drunken.  They 
have  existed  too  long,  aid  should  be  done 
away  with  now  and  forever. 

VV^e  have  refrained  from  writing  of  the  lower 
end  of  the  city  and  the  awful  vice  which  exists 
there.  We  would  fain  ask  the  inquiring  ^  lon- 
trealer  to  come  with  us  down  Wolfe  or  Jacques 
Cartier  Street  even  on  a  Sunday  afternoon. 
The  denizens  of  this  district  do  not  ask  the 
mantle  of  night  to  shelter  them.  In  broad 
daylight  they  ply  their  hideous  calling.  With 
painted  faces  they  beckon  from  ground-floor 
windows,  and  with  liquor-hoarse  voices  they  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  passer-by.  Old 
Greene  Street,  in  New  York,  at  its  worst  pre- 
sented no  viler  sight  than  these  streets  in  Mon- 
treal to-day. 


liiiiiiiiiii^ 


THE   HOUSE    OP  MESSALTNA. 


93 


Horrible,  horrible,  most  horrible  !  This  is 
no  overdrawn  picture  to  be  read  by  the  evil- 
minded  and  the  evil  hearted.  It  is  a  sad  state- 
ment of  facts.  The  localities  are  given.  Seek 
for  yourselves,  and  you  will  receive  a  lesson 
upon  "  the  sinfulness  of  sin"  as  powerful  as  a 
Spurgeon  sermon. 

We  might  write  of  the  low  hotels  and  lodg- 
ing-houses on  St.  Paul  Street  near  the  Bonse- 
cours  Market  and  around  the  two  great  sta- 
tions. Such  hotels  have  time  and  again  been 
raided  as  "disorderly  houses"  by  the  city  po- 
lice. Fancy  a  hotel  licensed  by  the  city,  and 
then  raided,  and  then  resuming  business  ! 

If  we  have  drawn  the  attention  of  one  ener- 
getic, honest  citizen  to  this  sad  state  of  affairs, 
good  must  follow  as  the  night  the  day.  If  we 
have  warned  some  headstrong  youth  from  the 
sin  which  kills,  good  has  been  done.  We  ask 
no  higher  reward  than  this. 

The  facts  and  figures  given  here  speak  for 
themselves.  Our  city  rulers  should  be  up  and 
doing  to  purge  our  city  from  this  moral  and 
physical  grossness. 

What  say  you  ? 


m 


04 


THE  HOBS   SHOE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


"THE    HORSESHOE. 


» 


The  New  York  of  ten  years  ago  held  no 
stranger  sight,  no  spot  more  interesting  in  cer- 
tain respects  than  the  quaint  old  building  which 
stood  at  the  corner  of  Houston  and  Crosby 
Streets.     Its  interior  has  seen  many  dramas. 

In  many  ways,  and  for  divers  reasons,  *'  Harry 
Hill's"  was  a  land-mark.  The  visitor  to  the  city, 
before  being  taken  out  to  "  see  the  sights,"  was 
always  asked  "  Shall  we  go  to  Harry  Hill's?" 

Within  its  walls,  from  early  afternoon  until 
early  morning,  was  gathered  as  motley  a  crew 
as  ever  the  eye  of  man  rested  upon.  The 
most  dangerous  and  desperate  criminals  met 
here  and  planned  new  villainies.  The  scum  of 
the  female  sex  of  lower  New  York  assembled 
themselves  together  in  this  place.  Men  and 
women  who  had  done  time,  who  were  wanted 
by  the  police  of  London,  Paris,  and  V^ienna, 
swaggered  about  and  aired  their  rough  ways 


jiiitiiiiliiiyii^^ 


n 


THE   HOBSESHOE. 


95 


before  the  visitor.  Upon  the  walls,  the  famous 
verse  beginning  "  Gentlemen,  sit  at  your 
ease  ;"  at  the  tables,  women  who  were  beyond 
suspicion  ;  at  the  bar  and  in  the  billiard-room, 
men  of  every  class.  It  indeed  deserved  the 
name  of  "  Free  and  Easy." 

But  alas !  one  fine  day  a  cruel-hearted  and 
inflexible  mayor  issued  his  famous  proclama- 
tion :  "The  dives  must  go."  And  Harry  Hill's 
went  the  way  which  the  Cremorne,  the  Empire, 
and  other  shady  resorts  had  trodden  before. 
They  will  be  more  or  less  lamented  but  not 
forgotten,  and  they  can  well  be  spared. 

To-day  the  space  formerly  occupied  by  Har- 
ry Hill's  is  a  scene  of  busiest  toil,  and  ere  long 
a  massive  warehouse  will  rise  upon  its  site. 

Montreal  as  yet  boasts  no  **  Free  and  Easy  " 
of  the  Harry  Hill  class.  There  are  no  concert 
halls  where  immoral  women  lie  in  wait  for 
vicious  men, — little  better  than  houses  of  as- 
signation. Montreal  will  allow  vice  to  any  ex- 
tent, but  it  must  not  offend  the  public  eye.  It 
may  ply  its  sad  vocation  in  dark  streets  and 
behind  closed  doors,  but  it  must  not  walk  in 
the  light  of  publicity.     The  festering  slums  of 


96 


TOE   HORSESHOE. 


mW' 


the  Faubourg  in  Quebec  may  exist,  but  the 
man  who  would  try  to  run  a  well-ordered  beer- 
garden  in  a  respectable  quarter  of  the  city  would 
have  a  thorny  road  to  travel. 

The  nearest  approach  to  the  American  "  Free 
and  Easy"  in  Montreal  is  Tommy  Boyle's  fa- 
mous Horseshoe  on  St.  Sulpice  Street,  It  is, 
however,  but  a  feeble  imitation.  True,  there 
is  "  beer  and  music,"  which  Puritan  New  York 
has  prohibited  ;  the  sound  of  song  and  dance 
is  heard  within  its  walls,  and  some  of  the  at- 
tendants are  in  female  attire:  but  here  the  re- 
semblance ends. 

At  "  The  Horseshoe"  there  are  no  women 
patrons,  no  female  performers  upon  the  stage, 
and  few,  if  any,  crooks  In  the  audience. 

Upon  a  dimly-lighted  street,  and  within  the 
shadow  of  the  noble  parish  church  of  Notre 
Dame  de  Montreal,  stands  the  Horseshoe. 

St.  Sulpice  Street  runs  from  Notre  Dame 
Street  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down  to  the  river 
front,  and  its  buildings  are  devoted  to  commerce 
and  the  pursuits  which  enrich  sailing-men. 
Tommy  Boyle's  is  the  exception. 

Leaving  the  Windsor  we  stroll  along  Dor- 


•^^.^mm^^^m^-' 


mmmmmmmmmmm 


TUB   HORSESHOE. 


07 


Chester  Street,  and  the  eye  is  arrested  by  the 
magnificent  dome  of  St.  Peter's  Cathedral  ris- 
ing heavenward  in  the  soft  summer  moonlight. 
Truly  it  is  even  now,  in  its  uncompleted  state,  a 
noble  and  a  picturesque  sight. 

Still  following  Dorchester  Street,  past  the 
St.  James'  Club  and  the  fine  residences  on 
either  side,  we  find  ourselves  at»  the  head  of 
Beaver  Hall  Hill.  Glancing  downward,  the 
lights  of  the  lov/er  city  gleam  and  twinkle  like 
a  thousand  stars,  and  speak  to  us  of  a  busy, 
ever-toiling  world. 

Descending  the  hill,  we  pass  through  Vic- 
toria Square  with  its  massive  warehouses,  and 
the  electric  lights  oi  St.  James  Street  gleam 
before  us.  It  is  nine  o'clock,  and  but  few  per- 
sons walk  its  quiet  length,  and  we  reach  Place 
d'Armcs  Square. 

Upon  the  magnificent  edifice  which  arrests 
and  holds  our  attention  we  cannot  devote 
much  space.  Had  we  a  volume  to  spare,  it 
would  give  no  idea  of  its  imposing  entrance. 
Its  solid  walls,  and  its  heaven -kissing  towers. 
We  long  for  the  deep  tones  of  its  famous  bell, 


08 


THS  UOBSESUOS. 


and  we  seek  to  imagine  its  appearance  when 
illuminated  upon  a  festival  night. 

Regretfully  we  turn  down  the  dark  and  nar- 
row street  which  sleeps  in  its  shadow,  and 
follow  its  quiet  length  until  the  sound  of  the 
slowly-gliding  St.  Lawrence  River  reaches  our 
ears,  and  we  breathe  with  deep  draughts  the 
fresh  and  health-laden  breezes  which  pene- 
trate even  here. 

Before  an  open  door,  which  reveals  a  flight 
of  steps,  stands  a  huge  colored  gaslight. 
Upon  its  colored  glass  can  be  traced  in  many 
different  styles  the  words  : 

THE  HORSESHOE 

Tommy  Boyle. 

And  upon  it  are  colored  horseshoes  such  as  Joe 
Murphy  surely  never  made  in  any  performance 
of  "  The  Kerry  Gow  "  on  record. 

Before  entering  through  this  hospitably 
open,  if  uninviting,  door  we  pause.  Down  the 
stairs  stagger  two  men,  whose  garb  proclaims 
the  seafaring  man,  and  they  are  standing  alter- 
nately to  starboard  and  to  port.  This  irregular 
course  occasions  us  some  misgivings  as  to  the 


•    i 


THE  H0B9ESH0B. 


90 


> 


point  to  be  taken  by  ourselves.   -  It  is  worse 
than  two  steamboats  in  a  canal. 

-  Bill." 

"Aye,  lad." 

"  Canst  tell  the  way  to  the  ship  ?  " 

"  Naw,  lad  ;  can  thou  ?" 

"  Maybe  if  'twas  daylight;  but  this  gas,  it 
'urt's  in'  eyes." 

"  Naw,  lad,  'tis  the  hoose  which  troubles 
thee." 

A  muttered  oath,  and  the  two  men  clinch 
and  roll  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps.  The  fall 
sobers  them  a  trifle,  and  they  **make  "  for  the 
riverside. 

Thanking  our  stars  for  our  caution  in  waiting 
till  the  track  was  clear  before  ascending,  we 
set  foot  upon  the  lowest  step. 

The  sound  of  a  voice  roaring  out  a  song  to 
the  monotonous  thumping  of  a  piano  which, 
at  this  distance,  sounds  like  the  combination  of 
a  fog-horn  and  the  noise  of  a  ships  screw, 
greets  our  ears.  Floating  down  the  stairway, 
in  occasional  gusts,  like  driving  snow,  comes 
an  odor  which  once  smelt  is  never  forgotten  : 
it  is  beer. 


il 


100 


TOE   HORSESIIOE. 


It  may  be  this  latest  odor,  or  the  thought 
that  having  gone  thus  far  we  should  push  on 
to  the  bitter  end,  that  compels  us  to  ascend 
the  short  flight  of  steps;  a  turn  to  the  right, 
and  the  bar  is  before  us. 

Before  us  stands  a  long  counter,  and  behind 
it  a  strongly-built  but  agile-looking  man  at- 
tends to  what  seems  a  rushing  business.  The 
man  is  an  ex-prize-Iighter  of  no  little  ability 
and  undoubted  courage,  who,  had  he  attended 
to  the  job  for  vvhicii  i.ature  seems  to  have 
built  him,  would  surelv  have  risen  to  eminence 
in  the  ranks  of  the  middle-weights. 

P'rom  the  air  of  secrecy  which  surrounds  the 
manners  of  the  two  flashily-dressed  men  who 
whisper  to  him  during  his  every  spare  minute, 
it  would  appear  that  there  is  mischief  in  the 
air.  The  feud  between  the  ex-Ouebccker  and 
another  pugilist  now  in  the  city  is  at  its 
hei<rht,  and  many  are  the  rumors  around  of  a 
settled  meeting  and  "a  merry  mill." 

At  the  far  end  of  the  bar  is  a  desk  labelled 
"  cashier  ; "  behind  it  sits  a  youth  of  hardly 
twelve  years,  who  seems  at  home  and  at  ease, 


THE   lIORSESnOE. 


101 


and  who  makes  chan(?-c  with  a  confidence  and 
certainly  horn  of  lon^  praticc. 

This  is  a  son  of  the  proprietor,  and  a  3'outh 
wliose  clever  dancing  liad  called  the  aristo- 
cratic patrons  of  a  recent  amateur  minstrel  en- 
tertainmenc  to  their  feet  and  made  the  Acad- 
emy of  Music  ring  with  wild  applause. 

Standing  in  a  corner,  and  that  being  noisily 
with  a  group  of  men  whose  aj)pearance  and 
dress  was  rather  out  of  character  with  their  sur- 
roundings, is  the  })roprietor.  Ue  is  a  short, 
slim  man,  with  a  merry  face  and  a  jolly  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  which  a  sore  arm  carried  in  a  sling 
cannot  entirely  banish. 

The  famous  owner  has  three  hobbies — his 
boy's  dancing,  the  pugilistic  abilities  of  his  bar- 
tender and  his  assistant,  a  slim  but  muscular 
lad  whoH'  he  addressed  as  "  Fitz,"  and  his  re- 
puted "  neara("ss"  in  money  matters.  lie 
seems  to  be  discussing  matters  fistic  ;  for  now 
and  then  he  points  to  the  men  behind  the  bar, 
and  his  voice  drops. 

The  two  men  to  whom  he  speaks  are  well 
known.  One,  the  taller,  is  a  gambler  on  a 
small  scale,  and  calls  himself  an  "  all-around 


102 


TBB   BOBSESnOB. 


sport,"  to  the  amusement  of  his  acquaintances. 
He  had  gained  some  notorie*;y  as  a  backer  of 
pugilists  and  pedestrians,  but  of  late  both  pugs 
and  peds  had  flown  wide  of  this  city,  and  the 
noble  sport  lagged.  His  companion  was  a 
foot-runner  of  more  than  local  fame,  who  lis- 
tened as  the  other  talked. 

"  Well,  is  it  a  go  ?" 

"  Yes,"  responded  Boyle. 

"I'll  be  here  to-morrow  night,"  returned  the 
other,  in  a  voice  whose  Milesian  accents  were 
unmistakable  ;  and  he  walked  quickly  to  the 
door  and,  with  his  companion,  disappeared. 

The  thumping  on  the  piano  h?d  ceased,  the 
foghorn-voiced  no  longer  pierced  our  ears,  and 
above  the  clink  of  glasses  can  be  heard  scraps 
of  conversation  : 

"Middle-weight,  and  a  good  'un." 

"  To-morrow,  at  five." 

-  I  say  I  did." 

"  Isn't  she  just—" 

-  Bill,  it's  six  bells." 

Let  us  escape  from  this  room  and  enter  the 
"  concert-hall." 

Seated  on  tables,  chairs,  benches,  and  even  on 


1 


^ip 


THE   BORSEAIIOE. 


108 


the  tioor,  a  hundred  or  more  men  are  crowded 
together  in  an  atmo.^phere  redolent  of  stale 
beer  and  vile  tobacco-smoke.  Surely  they 
must  be  salamanders,  and  used  to  fire,  to  stand 
this  long.  Only  a  stoker  on  an  ocean  steam- 
ship would  live  through  an  hour  of  it,  it  seems 
to  us,  and  yet  all  hands  are  orderly  and  happy. 
The  place,  for  all  its  vile  odor?  of  liqu  ''  and 
tobacco,  is  neat  and  clean,  and  drunken  men 
are  not  in  sight. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  "hall,"  a  platfor  n  is 
raised  a  coupl'^  cf  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
floor  and  in  full  sight  of  all  hands.  A  young 
man  has  just  finished  a  jig,  and  the  applause 
which  greeted  his  efforts  was  loud  and  long. 

The  master  of  ceremonies — on  this  occasion 
the  proprietor  himself — steps  forward  and  an- 
nounces: 

"  Mr.  Wilson  will  oblige  with  a  song.  He's 
a  good  'un — give  him  a  hand,  everybody." 

He  leads  the  applause  himself,  and  the  land- 
lubbers and  sailors  present  follow  with  vim. 
A  young  man  with  smooth,  greasy  locks 
about  which  there  is  just  the  faintest  sugges- 
tion of  salad  oil,  and  a  close-fitting  frock  coat 


m 


104 


THB   H0BSE8H0K. 


arises  from  somewhere  in  the  middle  of  the 
crowd,  and  way  is  made  for  him.  The  "  gen- 
tleman at  the  piano"  takes  an  exercise  canter 
over  the  keys,  and  a  finish  fight  between  piano 
and  singer  begins.  After  a  brief  struggle,  during 
which  we  have  been  possessed  of  the  idea  that 
the  man  has  been  warbling  "  White  Wings," 
the  piano  subsides;  the  volunteer  "talent" 
bows  to  the  storm  of  applause,  and  his  place  is 
taken  by  a  "  song  and  dance  artist." 

We  partake  of  some  fairly  good  beer  at  the 
hands  of  a  black-eyed  vestal,  who  attends  to 
our  side  of  the  room,  and  we  take  our  leave 
over  "The  Horseshoe,"  and  wend  our  way 
homeward  to  "think  it  over." 

It  is  not  for  us  to  question  the  advisability 
of  licensing  such  places  as  "The  Horseshoe." 
It  is  true  they  are  not  of  a  high  moral  tone 
nor  are  they  calculated  to  elevate  the  standard 
of  social  morality  in  the  community ;  but  at 
least  something  can  be  said  in  their  favor. 
Here  the  sailor  and  the  wharf-hand  is  better  off 
than  if  prowling  the  streets  at  the  mercy  of 
land-sharks  male  and  female.  He  is  not  poi- 
goned  with  vile  liquor,  but  he  can  take  his  beer 


mmmfmmm^mirmps^. 


im^.. 


JOE   BEEFS. 


lOd 


and  smoke  his  pipe  in  peace  at  little  cost.  If 
there  were  no  "  Morseslioc,"  he  might  spend 
his  money  and  ruin  his  iiealth  in  some  low 
drinking-dcn  along  tlie  river-front,  or  become 
ihe  |jrey  of  some  vile  lodging-house  keeper  or 
female  Harpy. 

In  short,  it  is  not  well  but  it  might  be  worse. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


JOE    BEEFS. 


The  travelled  pilgrim,  whose  Mecca  is  Mon- 
treal, when  he  arrives  at  that  beautiful  city 
usually  inquires  for  the  sights  of  the  city. 
The  impression  made  upon  him  by  guide- 
books, by  friends,  and  last  of  all  by  his  own 
powers  of  observation  wdiile  driving  up  to  his 
hotel,  convince  him  that  he  has  not  pitched  his 
tent  in  the  bankrupt  land  of  desolation  so  un- 
truthfully portrayed  in  Amer  c  ui  annexation 
sheets  of  The  I  For  M  str\pe. 

Far    from   it.     When   he    has   visited   our 


ji^w^w^rM 


"•■v., 


106 


JOS  BEEF'S. 


bridges,  our  churches,  our  residences,  our  busi- 
ness streets,  our  factories  and,  finest  of  all,  when 
he  has  stood  upon  Mount  Royal  and  seen  the 
fair  city  nestling  between  himself  and  the 
majestic  St.  Lawrence,  he  is  tempted  to  ask 
himself  : 

"  Is  this  one  of  the  cities  forming  part  of  a 
ruined  and  bankrupt  country,  being  rapidly 
depopulated  by  the  defection  of  starving,  unem- 
ployed labor,  and  deserted  by  capitalists  as  an 
unpromising  and  barren  field  ?  Can  these  sturdy 
business  men,  these  dignified  matrons,  these 
strong  and  hardy  young  men,  and  these  rosy- 
cheeked  and  handsome  girls  with  health  and 
intelligence  written  upon  their  faces — can  these 
be  the  same  people  of  whom  I  have  lately  read 
that  they  are  starving  inhabitants  of  a  frost- 
bound  and  barren  country,  even  now  tottering 
upon  the  verge  of  dissolution  political  and 
social  ?  Are  these  massive  warehouses  filled 
with  merchandise,  these  busy  factories,  these 
splendidly  equipped  railways  but  phantoms  of 
my  idle  brain  ?  Are  these  houses  on  Sher- 
brooke  and  Dorchester  Streets,  these  stone 
mansions  which  remind  me  of  London,  are  they 


h 


1 


JOB  beef's. 


107 


but  tenanted  by  the  caretakers,  the  families 
themselves  having  emigrated  some  months  ago 
to  Fall  River  and  Haverhill  ? 

After  seeking  around  in  vain  for  the  ivy 
which  should  be  climbing  over  our  buildings 
public  and  private,  in  testimony  of  their  ruin, 
and  after  a  weary  search  for  the  moss  which 
should  be  growing  over  our  railway  tracks  and 
public  highways,  the  idea  dawns  upon  the 
traveller,  if  he  be  an  American  and  possessed 
of  the  average  American  ability,  that  the  re- 
ports of  Canada  in  the  American  papers  are 
not  strictly  correct. 

If  he  inquires  a  little  further,  he  will  be  satis- 
fied that  the  statements  in  his  enterprising  coun- 
try's sensation-loving  journals  should  be  credited 
to  the  Father  of  Lies. 

If  he  be  inclined  to  mercy,  he  may  think  that 
the  reports  of  Canada's  ruin  are  somewhat  like 
the  account  of  the  hanging  of  the  Chicago 
Anarchists  in  a  notoriously  unreliable,  if  suc- 
cessful, New  York  daily — ihj  story  is  a  trifle 
previous. 

Having  satisfied  himself  as  well  as  possible 
by  all  outward  and  visible  signs  that  Montreal, 


108 


jox  beef's. 


at  least,  is  not  drifting  without  rudder  or  sails, 
with  neither  master  nor  crew  upon  the  sea  of 
ruin,  he  proceeds  to  satisfy  himself  that  for  tlie 
stranger  it  possesses  sights  of  interest  in  no 
way  inferior  to  any  cities  of  the  New  World. 

Well,  he  has  driven  upon  our  Mountain  Park 
road,  he  has  seen  our  observatory ;  he  has 
tested  our  water-supply  system  and  our  Cana- 
dian whiskey  supply  ;  in  one  of  our  splendid 
hired  carriages  he  has  rolled  along  Shcrbrooke 
Street — our  local  Fifth  Avenue;  muI  he  has  fully 
understood  tiie  pride  which  the  IMontrealer 
feels  in  the  magnificent  residences  of  his  city. 
Me  has  seen  thirty  brawny  Canucks  in  a  hand- 
tc-hand  struffs^lc  at  a  c^ame  called  football  in  a 
manner  truly  E^ritish  ;  and  on  Sunday  he  has 
met  the  voutb  and  beauty  of  the  city  taking  its 
afternoon  airing  upon  Sherbrooke  Street. 

Upon  him  steals  the  idea  that,  after  all, Canada 
may  be  a  country  of  fair  women  and  brave  men  ; 
and  if  he  be  a  poet  he  is  likely  tt)  ask, 


"Where  is  the  man  who  would  not  dare 
To  figlit  for  such  a  land." 

But  if  perchance  he  has  no  poetry  in  him,  but 


JOK   beep's. 


109 


inclined  to  hard  and  unpoetic  thoughts,  he  may 
say, 

"  I  have  seen  all  these  things  before  :  hand- 
some residences,  splendid  railroads,  busy  fac- 
tories, sturdy  young  men,  and  pretty  girls, 
these  are  daylight  sights  in  every  city.  Show 
me  something  which  will  be  hard  to  duplicate 
elsewhere." 

If  it  is  winter,  he  might  be  taken  to  the  moun- 
tain-top and  shown  the  city  in  moonlit  beauty 
below.     lie  could  not  equal  that  on  earth. 

Or  if  it  is  Carnival  week,  he  might  be 
taken  to  witness  the  fancy  drive,  the  Victoria 
Rink  Carnival.  Where  could  he  reproduce 
these  ? 

If  he  still  seeks  for  novelty,  let  him  stand  be- 
fore the  illumined  glories  of  the  Ice  Palace. 
Even  if  he  be  as  American  as  George  Washing- 
ton or  Jim  Blaine,  he  will  confess  that  at  last 
his  eyes  have  rested  upon  a  sight  which  never 
palls  ;  which  grows  in  beauty  and  brings  to 
him  ihouu'hts  of  another  world,  and  which  even 
his  great  and  glorious  country  cannot  equal. 

He  has  feasted  his  vision  upon  the'  sublime; 
he  will  now  laugh  at  the  ridiculous. 


110 


JOB  BEEF  S. 


It  is  certain  that  if  he  remains  in  Montreal 
long  enough  he  will  be  asked, 

•*  Have  you  seen  Joe  Beefs?" 

The  visitor  naturally  asks, 

"What  is  Joe  Beefs?" 

The  smile  of  triumph  comes  into  the  eyes  of 
the  resident.  He  h  is  found  something  which 
in  all  likelihood  the  American  has  never  seen 
before. 

*'  It  cannot  be  described,  mon  cousin  Amer- 
icain  ;  it  must  be  seen." 

And  so  it  comes  about  that  one  fine  night 
the  visitor,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  his  guide 
meet  at  a  leading  hotel  and  point  for  the  river's 
bank. 

The  trip  begins. 

There  is  no  terror  in  the  sight  of  the  well- 
lighted  and  still  busy  streets  of  the  business 
portion  of  the  city,  and  as  the  American  walks 
St.  James'  Street  his  grip  upon  his  "shooting- 
iron"  relaxes  perceptibly,  and  he  smiles  to 
himself  at  his  former  fears. 

But  a  turn  to  the  left,  a  few  paces  down  a 
narrow  and  dimly-h'ghted  street,  and  his  doubts 
return.     There  is  a  quiet  about  the  neighbor- 


1 


JOK  BBBF'S. 


Ill 


hood  which  sets  his  nerves  on  tension  ;  about 
some  of  the  buildings  on  either  hand  there  is  an 
air  of  physical  decay  not  at  all  reassuring. 

His  grip  upon  his  revolver  tightens,  and  he 
blesses  his  foresight. 

A  few  steps  more  and  the  St.  Lawrence, 
grand  and  stately,  rolls  on  toward  the  sea.  Far 
across  on  the  opposite  is  the  gleam  of  village 
lights,  and  in  front  the  electric  light  marks  the 
magnificent  wharf  frontage  far,  almost,  as  the 
line  of  vision,  until  far  away  down  the  river 
they  seem  like  stars  of  the  summer  night. 

Behind  him  he  has  left  the  roar  of  a  great 
city,  the  murmur  of  its  many  tongues,  the 
noise  of  its  numerous  feet.  Above  him,  to  left 
and  to  right,  tower  mighty  warehouses,  and  in 
front  a  countless  throng  of  men,  like  swarming 
bees,  toil  under  the  searching  rays  of  the  white 
light.  His  ear  is  assailed  by  shouting  of  busy 
overseers,  by  noise  of  restless  donkey-engines, 
and  creak  of  straining  chains.  To-morrow  morn- 
ing, ere  sunrise,  the  iron  monster  which  rests  so 
secure  upon  the  bosom  of  Father  St.  Law- 
rence, will  be  emptied  of  her  costly  freight  and 


112 


JOE   beep's. 


refilled  with  the  valuable  products  of  Canadian 
toil. 

Above  him  to  the  entrance  of  the  canal,  and 
below  him  till  the  eye  is  strained  in  its  efforts 
to  compass  the  distance,  the  scene  is  the  same. 

He  wonders  again  if  this  is  the  Deserted 
village,  of  which  his  country's  dailies  are  so 
tenderly  solicitous.  He  finds  himself  thinking 
if  this  is  the  land  of  desolation  and  debt  about 
whicli  he  has  read  ;  and  he  wonders  if  these 
sounds  of  busy  commerce  are  the  symptoms  of 
decay. 

Having  pretty  well  decided  that  in  future  he 
will  seek  another  gospel  of  information  and 
truth  than  his  favorite  Gift  Ente7^prise  Jotir- 
nal,  he  sud.ienly  remembers  the  object  of  his 
trip,  and  his  resolutions  are  interrupted  : 

"Well,  we  are  here." 

To  his  left,  upon  the  corner  of  the  street  fac- 
ing the  river  front  and  the  narrow  street  which 
he  has  just  descended,  is  a  dark  and  dirty  cor- 
ner "gin-mill."  Its  character  of  occupation  is 
unmistakable. 

Even  at  this  distance,  an  odor  unhuman  and 
vile  assails  his  nostrils.     He  sniffs  again  : 


Job  beef's. 


113 


**  Am  I  on  the  bounding  prairie  ?  for  surely  I 
smell  buffalo." 

His  companion  laughs  for  answer. 

The  American  is  visibly  nettled. 

"  My  friend  and  Canuck,"  he  says  with  just  a 
touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  "that  peculiar 
odor  does  not  belong  to  a  gin-mill.  The  last 
time  I  fainted  under  it  was  in  a  dime  museum 
on  the  Bowery." 

His  companion  laughed  aloud. 

"  Brother  Jonathan,"  he  replied,  with  true 
Canadian  politeness,  '*  this  is  better  than  any 
Bowery  museum,  for  here  you  not  only  see 
the  wild  animals,  but  the  human  as  well ;  and, 
better  than  all,  you  have  a  good  glass  of  beer 
right  on  the  premises.     Lastly,  it  is  free." 

Lost  in  admiration  of  this  Canadian  institu- 
tion so  cunningly  devised,  the  two  enter. 

For  a  second,  the  American  has  lost  his  as- 
sumed air  of  indifference.  Manifestly  he  is 
astonished. 

In  front  of  him  is  the  rarest  collection  of 
men  his  eyes  had  ever  seen.  There  was  not  a 
good  coat,  nor  a  hat  in  even  moderate  repair,  in 
the  entire  company.    Their  garb  was  of  the 


114 


JOE   beef's. 


poorest,   but   it   made   no    difference  to  their 
spirits — all  hands  were  happy  and  contented. 

Upon  a  corner  of  the  room,  a  stack  of  loaves 
of  bread,  piled,  if^not  mountain-high,  at  least 
ceiling-high,  attracted  attention.  Around  this 
improvised  pantry,  the  men  stood  or  sat  and 
ate  heartily. 

In  the  opposite  corner,  something  black  was 
lying  down,  but  once  in  a  while  the  ominous 
rattle  of  chain  warned  the  inquisitive  to  keep  at 
a  distance.  It  could  not  be  a  dog  ;  it  was  too 
big  for  a  cat. 

Suddenly  it  arose,  and  a  vision  of  a  wide-open 
mouth — a  dream  in  white  and  red — greeted  the 
bystanders. 

The  American's  vanity  was  tickled — his 
sense  of  smell  had  not  deceived  him  ;  he  had 
smelt  bear. 

Behind  a  counter,  a  stout  man,  with  florid 
face,  dispensed  the  ardent  fluid  to  a  thirsty 
crowd.     All  was  quiet  and  orderly. 

The  American  suggested  to  his  company  that 
possibly  to-morrow  might  be  **  bear-steak"  day. 
at  this  restaurant ;  but  the  joke  v/as  lost  upon 
the  night  air. 


JOB  BEKF's. 


\lt 


"  You  have  seen  the  'tiger'  and  the 'elephant* 
in  Ne\v  York.  Come  down  stairs  with  me,  and 
see  the  buffalo  in  Montreal." 

A  pale  faced-l)oy  is  detailed  to  lead  our  steps 
right,  and  we  follow.  He  L^^ckons  us  toward 
a  stairway  which  "  seems  the  pathway  down 
to  hell  ;"  and  with  reluctant  steps  we  follow. 

!n  a  dark  and  ill-smelling  cellar,  a  square 
space  has  been  stoutly  boarded  off,  and  within 
it  an  object  hairy  and  dark  is  reclining. 

It  was  the  lordly  roanier  of  thejVVestern  plains 
— the  animal  wiio  has  rechristened  one  of  Amer- 
ica's most  prominent  citizens,  the  Hon.  Wil- 
liam J.  Cody  ;  in  short,  it  is  a  buffalo. 

Properly  speaking,  it  is  what  is  left  of  one  ;  for 
captivity  has  sadly  worsted  his  once  noble  form 
and  frozen  the  fiery  current  of  his  soul.  He  is 
a  treed  buffalo. 

To  the  left  of  us,  another  bear  is  chained  ;  but 
it  is  unnecessary — his  ferocity  is  gone,  and  the 
tenderest  Indian  maiden  in  all  the  forests  would 
hardly  tempt  his  sunken  jaws  into  action. 

Upon  a  bar  a  huge  cage  hangs,  near  the  ceil- 
ing, and  within  it  two  parrots,  almost  as  devoid 


116 


JOS  sjskf's. 


of  feathers  as  a  broiled  chicken,  occasionally 
disturb  the  vicinity  with  cacophonous  noise. 

In  remote  corners,  unlit  by  the  feeble  and 
glimmering  light  of  a  smoky  lamp,  other  objects 
are  moving;  but  the  desire  for  fresh  air,  in  the 
visitors,  is  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  The  in- 
vestigation into  this  menagerie  is  not  pursued 
further. 

Above  the  saloon  are  sleeping-rooms  ;  for  no 
poor  man  need  want  a  bed  while  Joe  Beef's  is 
open.  In  the  morning  he  must  turn  out  early 
and  wash  himself ;  this  last  being  a  hobby  of 
the  strange  and  eccentric  proprietor.  There  is 
good  wholesome  bread  in  the  corner,  and  he 
may  eat,  and  welcome.  If  he  has  money,  he 
can  pay  it ;  if  he  is  penniless,  he  need  not. 

Joe  Beef's  may  be  low,  it  is  certainly  dirty 
on  the  cellar  and  ground  floors ;  and  the  value 
of  such  a  place  to  the  city  may  be  questioned. 
But  let  one  thing  be  remembered — many  a 
tired  head  has  here  found  rest ;  many  a  hungry 
mouth  has  here  been  filled. 

Surely,  this  charity  will  cover  a  multitude 
jf  sins. 

At  Joe  Beef's  death,  quite  recently,  the  Mont- 


J0«  BSKF't. 


Ill 


real  S^ar  did  justice  to  one  who,  with  all  his 
faults,  was  the  poor  man's  friend,  and  gave 
some  particulars  of  his  strange  career :  lie  was 
born  in  County  Cavan,  Ireland,  in  the  year 
1835,  and  consquently  was  54  years  of  age 
at  the  time  of  his  death.  When  quite  a  young 
boy,  he  was  sent  to  the  School  of  Gunnery  in 
Woolwich,  England.  When  the  Crimean  war 
broke  out,  he  was  drafted  into  the  Royal  Artil- 
lery, and  served  through  the  greater  portion  of 
the  well-known  campaign,  being  raised  to  the 
rank  of  sergeant.  When  others  failed  to  secure 
supplies,  Joe  would  start  out,  and  it  was  very 
rarely  that  he  returned  without  a  plentiful  sup* 
ply  of  beef  and  other  eatables  ;  and  from  this 
he  received  the  name  Joe  Beef.  lie  came  to 
Canada  with  the  Royal  Artillery,  ordered  to 
Quebec  in  the  year  1864  on  account  of  the  Trent 
atfair.  He  came  to  Montreal  with  his  brigade 
in  1864,  had  charge  of  the  canteen  at  the  Que- 
bec barracks  for  three  years  and  at  St.  Helen's 
Island  for  two  years.  In  1868,  he  then  bought 
his  discharge,  and  started  a  tavern  on  Claude 
Street,  named  the  Crown  and  Sceptre.  When 
this  street  was  widened,  in  1870,  he  removed  to 


118 


JOE   beef's. 


his  present  abode,  Nos.  4,  5,  and  6  Common 
Street,  where  he  has  been  ever  since.  In  1877, 
durinir  three  days  of  the  Lachine  Canal  strike, 
he  distributed  over  3000  loaves  and  500  gallons 
of  soup.  He  also  sent  two  delegates  to  Ottawa  " 
to  intercede  for  the  workmen.  A  few  years 
after  this  occurrence,  the  operatives  at  the  cot- 
ton-mills at  liochclaga  refused  to  wo?k  unless 
the  hours  of  labor  were  reduced.  Whilst  this 
strike  was  in  progress,  Joe  advised  the  people 
to  hold  out,  and  in  the  mean  time  had  a  plenti- 
ful supply  of  bread  and  soup  distributea  amongst 
them.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the  opera- 
tives got  the  desired  reduction  in  hours. 

Upon  this  occasion,  the  Montreal  daily 
IVi'liess,  which  claims  the  exclusive  privilege  of 
being  the  follower  of  llim  who  preached  char- 
ity to  all,  followed  the  dead  man  even  to  his 
grave  with  vilification  and  hypocritical  abuse. 
For  them  the  old  and  honored  saying  of  "  De 
mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum"  carries  no  mean- 
ing. The  editorial  is  worthy  of  reproduction 
If  its  claim  to  being  "  the  only  religious  daily" 
is  founded  upon  such  works  as  this,  it  will 
hold  its  position  undisputed. 


^  »:ir.vt  a*-.. 


JOE   beef's. 


110 


4, 


Read  this : 

•'Joe  Beef  is  Dead.  —  For  twenty-five 
yea:.,  he  has  enjoyed  in  his  own  way  the  repu- 
^  tation  of  beinix  for  Montreal  what  was  in 
former  days  known  under  the  pet  sohri(]uet  of 
the  wickedest  man.  His  saloon,  where  men 
consorted  with  ur clean  beasts,  was  probably 
the  most  disgustingly  dirty  in  the  country.  It 
has  been  the  bottom  of  the  sink  of  which  the 
Windsor  bar  and  others  like  it  are  the  re- 
ceivers. The  only  step  further  was  to  be  found 
mu'dered  on  the  wharf  or  dragged  out  of  the 
gutter  or  the  river,  as  might  happen.  It  was 
the  resort  of  the  most  degraded  of  men.  It 
was  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  a  sort  of  cut  de  snc, 
in  which  thieves  could  be  corralled.  The  police 
declared  it  valuable  to  them  as  a  place  where 
these  latter  could  be  run  down.  It  has  been 
actively  at  work  over  all  that  time  for  the 
brutalizing  of  youth — a  work  wdiich  was  carried 
on  with  the  utmost  diligence  by  its,  in  that 
sense,  talented  {)roprietor.  The  excuse  just 
mentioned  for  tolerating  it,  and  licensing  it 
annually  in  the  Queen's  rame,  issurelv  an  un- 
speakable  disgrace.      Worse  than  this,  under 


i.  < 
»  4 


120 


TB«  TBXATSX8. 


the  principles  of  our  present  government,  this 
destructive  resort  will  be  held  to  have  a  good- 
will, whatever  that  word  may  mean  with  re- 
gard to  embrutlng  young  men,  and  claims  will 
be  made  for  a  continuance  of  this  license  from 
her  Majesty  to  carry  on  this  trade  on  condi- 
tion of  sharing  the  gains  with  her  Majesty  to 
the  extent  of  two  hundred  dollars." 

Comment  upon  such  charity  is  unnecessary. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE     THE  ATRES. 


It  may  be  remarked,  right  at  the  start  of  this 
chapter,  that  Montreal  "does  not  go  much  on 
theatres."  It  goes  to  them  much,  but  the 
drama  in  Montreal  is  but  the  idle  amusement 
of  an  hour.  The  impression  left  by  any  per- 
formance is  but  temporary  ;  with  the  majority 
it  is  soon  forgotten. 

Where  is  the  intelligent  man  who,  after  vis- 
iting one  of  the  larger  American  cities,  will 
not  confess  to  his  astonishment  at  the  devotion 


s"-.,  ---;i'ii^*r.-~.'-- 


MiMliilSNMWef^^W^npMtMfiiif 


THE  THXATBX8. 


121 


of  the  public  to  the  drama,  and  of  their  intelli- 
gent appreciation  of  the  efforts  of  its  artists  ? 

This  appreciation,  so  gratifying  and  encour- 
aging to  its  followers,  and  so  creditable  to  the 
patrons  themselves,  finds  no  place  in  Montreal. 

The  play  is  applauded  or  listened  to  in  silent 
condemnation,  it  is  laughed  at  or  wept  over ; 
but  it  is  forgotten,  and  the  names  of  its  mimic 
characters,  and  of  the  artists  who  portrayed 
them  are  sometimes  not  even  noticed  and 
almost  invariably  forgotten. 

In  no  city  is  the  actor's  art  more  evanescent, 
less  permanent,  than  in  Montreal.  It  is  not 
creditable  to  the  inhabitants. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  discuss  the  cause  nor 
to  suggest  a  cure.  It  may  be  the  want  of 
proper  and  intelligent  criticism  to  guide  the 
outsiders  aright — for  Montreal  theatrical  criti- 
cism is  notoriously  incompetent  and  partial ; 
or  it  may  be  that  the  dailies  do  not  lead  their 
readers  to  think  upon  the  art  which  Shake- 
speare loved  ; — but  pity  t'is,  t'is  true. 

And  yet  Montreal  has  been  singularly  favored 
in  the  respect  of  theatrical  performances. 
Withia  the  walls  of  the  Academy  of  Music  the 


122 


THE   THEATRES. 


actors  in  the  mimic  world  beyond  the  foot- 
lights have  not  lacked  encouragement  from 
the  "sea  of  faces"  not  far  away;  and  applause, 
if  not  keenly  discriminating,  is  ofttimes  hearty 
and  honest. 

Upon  the  boards  of  the  Academy  of  Music, 
many  famous  disciples  of  the  art  of  Tiiespis 
have  strutted  and  fretted  their  little  hour. 
Here  Bernhardt,  •*  La  divine  Sara,"  looked 
with  the  winning  tenderness  of  her  liquid  eyes 
upon  Annand,  and  braved  the  Princesse  de  Bou- 
llion.  Over  the  audiences  the  thrill  of  horror 
has  passed  when  Genevieve  Ward,  as  Stcphajiie 
de  Mohrivart,  sees  the  revengeful  Corsican 
waiting  upon  the  balcony  for  his  victim;  and 
her  wild  cry  of  terror  still  rings  in  our  ears. 
Lovely,  gentle  Adelaide  Ncilson  murmured 
the  passion  of  the  love-lorn  daughter  of  the 
Capulets  to  the  crooning  and  bleating  Romeo 
beneath  her  balcony,  and  sighed  in  silver-sweet 
accents  for  "  A  falconer's  voice  to  lure  him 
back  again."  Statuesque  Mary  Anderson 
has  chilled  the  love  of  the  moon-eyed  Orlando 
in  the  forest  of  Arden,  and  posed  as  Parthcnia. 
Modjeska,  sweetest  of  them  all,  more  womanly. 


Wia,j,U'>iSi:iMV-^.V.  - 


-'■'»  WAIUN^^W^HH^ ' 


THE  THKATRES, 


123 


more  loveable,  has  wept  as  the  erring  Froti' 
Frou,  and  Montreal's  fairest  daughters  wept 
with  her;  and  Ellen  Terry  has  flooded  over  the 
stage  and  tried  the  keen  encounter  of  her  wits 
with  Benedict.  Here,  too,  Marie  Prescott,  with 
fierce  strength,  has  cursed  her  lying  husband  in 
'•  The  Wages  of  Sin  "  and  shrunk  from  Othello  s 
stormy  caresses.  Margaret  Mather's  untrained 
ability  lias  shown  us  dimly  the  sorrows  of 
**  Leah  the  Forsaken,"  and  charming  Rose 
Coghlan  has  fascinate ^  us  with  her  exquisite 
comedy,  as  she  joked  at  poor  6^/^  Peter  Teazle. 
Janauschek,  grandly  tragic,  has  cursed  Dick 
Hattei'ick;  and  we  have  here  seen  Ristori, 
voiceless  almost  and  in  her  wane.  Patti  and 
Gerster  have  sung  here  ;  and  the  last  notes  of 
their  music  still  floats  around  us. 

Salvini,  grandest  of  tragedians,  has  pleaded 
his  cause  before  the  Senate  and  lifted  his  won- 
drous voice  in  barbaric  rage.  The  skill  and 
stagecraft  of  an  Irving  has  reproduced  "  Louis 
XI."  and  thrilled  us  with  the  abject  terror  of 
Mathias  in  "The  Bells."  We  have  laughed 
with  Colonel  Mnlberry  Sellers  and  sorrowed 
with  Mantell.     The  unctuous  humor  of  W.  J. 


.Htkeit^ 


immmmmWmmmmmmm. 


124 


THK  THBATBSf. 


Florence  as  Captain  Cuttle,  the  solemn  and 
quiet  fun  of  Roland  Reed,  and  the  drunken 
antics  of  George  Knight  have  amused  us.  The 
cunning  of  Keene's  hunchback  king,  the 
ghastly  terror  of  Mansfield's  Baron  Cher- 
rial,  and  the  humanity  and  pathos  of  the 
Jack  Yetibett  of  Joseph  Haworth  have  all 
received  their  due  meed  of  recognition. 

A  first  night  at  the  Academy  of  Music  is 
rarely  the  best  for  purposes  of  observation. 
The  Montrealer — insular  as  a  Briton — does 
not  know  what  is  said  or  written  of  the  piece 
in  other  cities ;  he  does  not  care.  Deep 
down  in  his  mind  there  is  a  settled  conviction 
that  the  American  theatrical  manager  is  always 
"  trying  it  on  the  dog,"  and  he  prefers  to  wait 
until  his  friends  have  gone.  He  prefers  them 
to  stand  the  brunt  of  the  fray.  Ofttimes  it  is 
a  trying  ordeal,  for  the  Academy  has  seen 
some  "cruel"  shows,  of  which  "  C.  O.  D.," 
"On  the  Trail,"  and  "Philopene"  remain  unto 
this  day  in  their  memories.  In  view  of  this, 
Montreal  caution  is  justifiable — even  com- 
mendab'e 

rilT  ;^:,,..-*iird  of  dramatic  performance  seems 


TBSATfifid. 


w 

•vT; 


•J^V' 


to  be  the  famous  "Diplomacy"  company  of 
ten  years  ago.  Some  members  of  the  cast  are 
still  remembered : 

Henry  Beattckrc,    .  Fred.  B.  Warde. 

Julian  Beaucierc,   .  Maurice  Barry  more. 

Ba7'on  SteiHy     .     .  H.  Rees  Davies. 

Count  de  Carojac, .  Signor  Majeroni. 

Dora, Miss  Annie  Edmondson. 

Countess  Zicka, .    .  Signora  Majeroni. 

Mr.  Barrymore  was  then  an  infinitely  better 
actor  than  he  is  now,  and  it  is  certain  that  he 
then  wore  a  hat  two  sizes  smaller.  Fred.  B. 
Warde  had  not  been  seized  with  stellar  aspira- 
tions. Mr.  H.  Rees  Davies  is  now  with 
Roland  Reed,  and  the  Majeronis  are  in  Aus- 
tralia. Of  Miss  Edmondson,  we  have  lost 
track.  It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  it 
was  a  notable  performance.  Ten  such  stock 
companies  are  now  on  the  road. 

The  Canadian  representative  of  junior 
"  upper-tendom"  does  not  consume  his  rival 
with  jealousy  by  taking  his  loved  one  to  the 
theatre  and  filling  her  with  candy  between  the 
acts.     Canadian  etiquette  does  not  permit  the 


126 


THE  THEATRES. 


former,  and  Canadian  ideas  of  health  and  good 
manners  run  contrary  to  the  latter  action.  To 
the  Canadian  juvenile  "aristocrat,"  this  Amer- 
icanism seems  a  relic  of  barbarism  ;  so  he  either 
goes  alone  and  sits  "in  the  unreserved,"  or, 
with  a  "fellow  of  his  own  set,"  he  dons  his 
evening  dress  and  sits  solemn  and  unmoved  in 
the  orchestra  chairs. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  in  favor  of  the  non- 
attendance  of  young  people  at  the  theatres. 
The  young  man  who  goes  with  his  fiana^e, — 
actual  or  would-be, — and  has  compelled  her  to 
listen  to  the  indecencies  of  "  La  Tosca"  or  "  A 
Wife's  Peril,"  or  something  equally  sultry,  is  in 
a  position  not  devoutly  to  be  wished  for. 

There  are  some  first-nighters  in  Montreal, 
without  whom,  it  is  jestingly  said,  the 
Academy  would  remain  unopened.  One  of 
these,  a  prominent  politician,  portly  of  form 
and  gray  of  hair,  is  known  as  a  devoted  ad- 
mirer of  the  fair  sex,  and  the  sacred  lamp  of 
burlesque  shines  never  too  brightly  for  him. 
From  his  box,  on  the  left  of  the  stage,  his 
ardent  glances  fall  upon  the  performers ;  but, 


II 


THE  THEATftES. 


127 


alas !  the  attraction  is  not  mutual,  and  his  at- 
tentions are  seldom  rrcinrocated. 

Another  familiar  figure  on  Monday  nights 
is  the  smooth-faced  and  slender  scion  of  a 
leading  wealthy  French-Canadian  family.  He 
has  figured  more  than  once  hefore  the  public ; 
but  of  late  he  has  withdrawn  into  temporary, 
if  not  enforced  ;  seclusion. 

Another  regular  attendant  is  one  of  the  sons 
of  a  wealthy  railroad-speculator.  His  attire  is 
like  unto  Jacob's  coat,  and  ev^en  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory  was  not  a  circumstance  to  this 
local  Berry  Wall.  It  is  well  that  his  dress  is  his 
worst  characteristic  ;  otherwise  he  is  harmless. 

But  the  time  to  see  a  Montreal  audience  at 
its  best  is  during  an  amateur  performance — 
such  as  are  frequently  given  in  aid  of  some  well- 
known  charity.  Here  indeed,  do  youth  and 
beauty  meet ;  for  the  dramatic  or  minstrel 
talent  of  Montreal  is  recruited  from  its  upper 
ranks,  and  the  entire  house  is  always  sold  to 
the  friends  and  acquaintances  of  the  per- 
formers, and  tickets  to  those  outside  of  the 
"  local  400  "  are  at  a  premium. 

To-night  there  is  an  amateur  minstrel  per- 


»fifl»»iinpp(*lp 


128 


TBS  TnSATBSd. 


formance  for  the  benefit  of  "  The  Home  for 
Incurable  Old  Maids,"  and  we  are  informed 
that  the  entire  house  is  sold,  and  that  the 
merit  of  the  performers  and  the  brilliancy  of 
the  audience  will  mark  an  event  in  fashionable 
Montreal. 

Our  American  blood  is  up.  We  will  see 
that  performance  and  that  audience  if  we  have 
to  bankrupt  ourselves  to  get  tickets  and  leave 
our  trunks  "  as  security  "  at  our  hotel. 

We  are  saved  this  sad  fate.  The  "gentle- 
manly" (always  gentlemanly  in  print)  hotel 
clerk,  after  superhuman  efforts,  has  got  us 
two.  He  says  that  his  attempts  in  our  behalf 
would  have  done  justice  to  a  sporting  man  on 
the  trail  of  a  prize-fight.  We  believe  him — it 
is  easier  than  disputing;  we  dress  with  extra 
care,  and  duly  at  eight  o'clock  we  present  our- 
selves. 

The  house  was  not  half  full  yet,  and  we 
marvelled  greatly  thereat.  We  had  not  yet 
learned  that  in  Montreal,  as  elsewhere,  no 
amateur  performance  begins  at  the  advertised 
time. 

Soon  wc  hear  the  rattle  of  the  tambo  and 


THE   TllKATRES. 


129 


bones,  and  for  the  first  time  \vc  venture  to  cast 
our  eyes  about  us.  The  house  is  full  Liri  we 
are  surrounded  by  th<3  "  youth  and  beauty  "  of 
Montreal. 

We  arc  not  disappointed.  There  are  pix'tty 
young  girls  of  from  eighteen  to  twenty  two 
and  handsome  women  of  thirty.  The  men  in 
evening  dress  are  what  might  be  termed  "  tine 
young  fellows." 

One  thing  is  especially  noticeable — the:"e  is 
an  air  of  distinction  about  tl;e  audience  wliich 
seems  to  say,  "  Our  refinement  and  our  posi- 
tion does  not  date  from  last  generation."  The 
women  do  not  talk  loud — that  qualii.y  of  voice 
so  commended  by  the  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon. 
Their  English  pronunciation  is  of  the  ))est ;  and 
there  is  no  slang,  no  nasal  drawl,  no  "ain't;" 
better  than  all,  no  blazing  of  diamonds,  so 
noticeable  in  the  regular  anvl  parvenu  audi- 
ences of  New  York.  Of  this,  my  American 
friends  shall  be  duly  informed. 

There  is  a  tinkle  ;  instantly  we  settle  back 
in  our  seats,  prepared  to  be  bored  and  to  look 
happy. 

There  is  nothing  for  the  old-timer  to  object 


130 


THE  THKATRKS. 


to  in  the  stage  setting,  revealed  as  the  curtain 
rolls  up.  The  fifty  young  men  upon  the  stage 
are  well  posed,  the  end-men  look  confident, 
and  the  scenery  and  gas-jets  fill  up  a  charming 
pioture. 

The  fun  begins.  An  admirably  played  over- 
ture raises  in  our  minds  the  hope  that  perhaps 
the  show  will  not  be  unendurable,  and  three 
times  we  have  caught  ourselves  laughing  at  the 
antics  of  the  young  man  on  the  bones  end. 
Then  the  jokes  arc  sprung,  and  we  have  not  rec- 
ognized a  single  old  friend.  We  marvel  at 
the  easy  manner  of  the-end  men  and  the  self- 
possession  of  the  clear-voiced  interlocutor. 
Once,  an  end  man  for  an  instant  only  seems 
shaky,  but  the  interlocutor,  with  the  readiness  of 
a  professional,  guides  him  over  the  rough  spot. 
It  is  admfrably  done,  and  it  passes  almost 
entirely  unnoticed.  The  solos  are  admirably 
sung,  and  the  chorus  attach  with  the  certainty 
of  veterans. 

The  curtain  goes  down  upon  the  first  part, 
and  we  Jonathans  are  enthusiastic  in  praise  of 
Mr.  Canuck. 

"  Charley,"  said  I,  "  this  show  is  good  enough 


THE  THKATRES. 


131 


to  travel  on  its  own  merits,  with  no  charity  at- 
tachment." 

My  friend  agreci:  with  me,  and  we  listen  to 
the  favorable  comments  of  the  audience  around 
us. 

The  second  part  is  surprisingly  good.  There 
is  a  capital  quartette,  a  banjoist  almost  up  to 
Billy  Carter,  and  the  end-man  who  was  so 
witty  in  the  first  part  is  screamingly  funny  in 
the  after-piece.     Decidedly,  he  is  an  artist. 

We  wait  in  the  lobby  as  the  audience  file 
out.  Our  good  impression  is  renewed,  and  we 
admire  the  rich,  soft  furs  so  much  in  fashion. 

The  next  night  we  prepare  ourselves  for  a 
trip  to  the  Theatre  Royal,  which,  we  are  in- 
formed, is  similar  to  the  Third  Avenue  Theatre 
in  New  York. 

Its  popularity  is  undoubted  ;  to  that,  the  en- 
tering crowds  bear  witness.  With  difficulty 
we  squeeze  in,  and,  paying  fifty  cents  apiece, 
we  lord  it,  over  the  common  herd,  in  a  box  seat. 

"  My  Partner  "  is  most  excellently  performed. 
The  man  who  acts  ^oe  Saunders  is  an  artist. 
Gilfeather  is  his  name,  if  I  remember  aright, 
and  Miss  Mary  Brandon  is  sweet  and  refined. 


132 


THE   spider's    web. 


In  the  audience  is  no  silk  and  satin,  but  only 
fustian  ;  but  all  seem  to  be  happy  and  enjoying 
themselves.  Above  all,  everything  is  orderly. 
Again  we  are  favorably  impressed. 

Montreal  at  present  supports  but  two  thea- 
tres. The  Queen's  Hall,  a  fine,  roomy,  and  well- 
lit  hall,  has  no  scenery  and  is  the  home  of 
concert  proper.  Albani,  Scalchi,  and  Cam- 
panini  have  sung  here. 

The  theatre  is  only  indirectly  an  educator ; 
but,  if  it  amuses,  its  mission  is  fulfilled.  Provided 
the  amusement  be  pure,  education  will  follow. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE    SPIDERS    WEB. 


The  passion  for  gambling  seems  implanted 
W'thin  the  human  breast.  Ouida,  in  "  Moths," 
remarks  that  i:  is  the  passion  which  outlasts  all 
the  others.  Nearly  every  man  and  woman  has 
at  one  time  or  other  left  the  decision  of  some 
more  or  less  weighty  question  to  the  Blind 
Goddess.     In  the  dawn  of  time,  had  we  their 


'■A  ifiiAiai  J--.  vitruiiiR,    •. -aistj-.i 


'T<ipWi«p«giMMNi«ManmiMtt($ 


mum^mummm^' 


THE  spider's  web. 


133 


records,  it  would  probably  be  found  that  the 
earliest  civilized  races  were  victims.  We  are 
certain,  from  the  Old  Testament,  that  "  they 
cast  lots." 

Upon  this  subject  the  once-famous  O.  B. 
Frothingham  wrote  an  e.ssay,  which  he  entitled 
"The  Ethics  of  Gambling,"  which  vice  he 
rather  wittily  defined  as  "  trying  to  get  the 
start  of  Providence."  A  well-known  American 
monthly  publishes  some  curious  statements 
upon  the  most  fascinating  sin,  which  age  can- 
not wither  nor  custom  stale — the  darling  alike 
of  hot-headed  youth,  staid  middle  age,  and 
senile  decay. 

The  passion  for  gambling,  of  which  betting 
is  only  one  form,  was  developed  very  early  in 
in  the  history  of  man.  The  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans were  fond  of  laying  wagers.  One  of 
the  wildest  bets  ever  made  was  that  of  the 
physician  Asclepiades,  who  wagered  against 
Fortune  that  he  would  never  be  ill  in  his  life- 
time, staking  his  reputation  as  the  greatest 
medical  authoritv  of  his  dav.  He  won  his 
wager,  although  he  could  not  enjoy  it,  for  at 


134 


THE   spider's  web. 


an  advanced  age  he  fell  down-stairs  and  received 
injuries  from  vviiich  he  died. 

The  Romans  invested  betting  with  much 
solemnity.  Each  party  to  the  contract  took 
his  ring  from  his  finger,  and  gave  it  into  the 
keeping  of  some  third  party  until  the  bet  was 
decided.  We  see  here  a  foreshadowing  of  our 
modern  stakeholder.  The  lex  Titia  and  the 
lex  Cornelia  forbade  betting  on  any  games  un- 
less they  were  trials  of  courage,  bodily  strength, 
or  skill. 

In  the  Middle  Ages,  various  legal  restrictions 
were  placed  upon  betting.  In  Rome,  wagers 
on  the  death  or  exaltation  of  the  popes  and  on 
the  promotion  of  cardinals  were  forbidden.  In 
Venice,  wagers  on  the  election  of  all  public 
officers  were  forbidden  ;  and  Genoa  carried  the 
restriction  to  bets  on  the  success  of  military 
expeditions,  the  revolutions  of  states  or  king- 
doms, the  arrival  and  departure  of  vessels,  and 
proposed  marriages.  A  statute  passed  in  Paris 
in  1565  made  it  illegal  to  make  any  woman  the 
subject  of  a  wager. 

In  the  year  1725,  a  banker  named  BuUiot 
ruined  himself  by  trusting  to  a  popular  supersti- 


THE  SProER*S   WEB. 


135 


tion.     The  English  say  that,  if  St.  Swithin's 
Day  (July  15)  be  rainy,  the  rain  will  continue 
for  forty  days.     St.  Swithin's  Day  of  that  year 
was  rainy,  and  Bulliot  ofTered  to  bet  that  the 
saying  would  hold  good.     His  takers  were  so 
many  and  eager  that  the  terms  were  reduced  to 
writing,    as    follows :     "  If,    dating   from    St. 
Swithin's  Day.  it  rains  more  or  little  during 
ioYty  &dys  successively,  Bulliot  will  be  considered 
to  have  gained  ;  but  if  it  ceases  to  rain  for  only 
one  day  during  that  time,    Bulliot  has  lost." 
Bulliot  was   so  confident   of  success  that  he 
placed  money  against  all    articles  of   value — 
gold-headed   canes,  snuff-boxes,    jewels,    even 
clothes.     When  his  cash  was  exhausted,  he  is- 
sued notes  and  bills  of  exchange  to  the  amount, 
it  is  said,  of  one    hundred    thousand    crowns. 
He  found    himself  suddenly  famous :    verses 
were  made  in  his  honor,  a  play  was  produced 
of  which  he  was  the  hero,  all  England  was  for 
the    moment     supremely    interested     in    the 
weather.     For  twenty-one  days,  more  or  less, 
rain  fell.     The  twenty-second   opened  bright 
and  cloudless  and  continued  so.     Bulliot  had 
lost  his  bet ;  but  he  was  ruined  so  completely 


136 


THE  SPIDEK*S   WEB. 


that  he  was  unable  to  meet  the  notes  and  bills 
that  bore  his  name. 

A  notorious  gambler  of  the  last  centur)% 
whose  name  has  not  yet  descended  to  posterity, 
was  playing  for  high  stakes  with  Lord  Lorn, 
until  finally,  exasperated  by  a  run  of  continu- 
ous ill  luck,  he  jumped  from  the  card-tabie, 
and,  seizing  a  large  punch-bowl,  cried  :  "  For 
once  I'll  have  a  bet  where  I  have  an  equal 
chance  of  winning  !  Odd  or  even,  for  fifteen 
thousand  guine?s  ?" 

"  Odd,"  replied  the  peer,  calmly. 

Crack  went  the  bowl  against  the  wall.  When 
the  pieces  were  gathered  up  and  counted,  the 
number  proved  to  be  odd.  The  gambler  paid 
his  money,  but  tradition  asserts  that  it  was  only 
by  selling  the  last  of  his  estates. 

Heidegger,  Master  of  the  Revels  to  George 
II.,  was  considered  the  ugliest  person  in  Eng- 
land. A  courtier  wagered  that  he  could  pro- 
duce an  uglier.  He  was  allowed  a  few  days  to 
unearth  his  champion,  and,  after  exploring  all 
the  worst  slums  of  London,  brought  forward 
an  old  woman  from  St.  Giles's.  The  umpire, 
with  Heidegger's  approval,  was  about  to  award 


.iMMMmm.:^ 


ii^^miMi-^ 


.^if^H)i*: 


THE  spider's  web. 


137 


the  palm  to  her;  but  Heidegger,  in  response  to 
a  suggestion,  donned  the  old  woman's  bonnet, 
and  with  this  added  ugHness  he  carried  off  the 
palm. 

A  not  dissimilar  bet  was  made  in  1806,  in 
the  Castle  Yard,  York,  between  Thomas  Hodg- 
son and  Samuel  Whitehead,  as  to  which  should 
assume  the  most  eccentric  costume.  Hodgson 
came  before  the  umpires  decorated  with  bank- 
notes of  various  values  on  his  coat  and  waist- 
coat, and  a  row  of  five-guinea  notes  and  a  long 
netted  purse  of  gold  round  his  hat.  The  words 
"  John  Bull"  were  written  on  his  back.  White- 
head was  made  up  like  a  negro  on  one  side,  like 
a  woman  on  the  other.  One  half  of  his  face 
was  black,  the  other  was  rouged  ;  one  half  of 
his  body  appeared  in  a  gaudy  long-tailed  linen 
coat,  leather  breeches,  and  spurred  boot,  the 
other  half  in  woman's  dress,  with  a  silk  stock- 
ing and  a  slipper.  The  judges  awarded  the 
stakes  to  Hodgson. 

The  violinist  Vieuxtemps  used  to  be  fond  of 
relating  the  following  story.  As  he  was  walk- 
ing on  London  Bridge,  a  poor  wretch  threw 
himself  over  the  parapet.     There  was  a  rush  of 


138 


THK  SPIDEE's  web. 


eager  spectators.  "  I'll  bet  he  drowns !"  shouted 
one.  "  Two  to  one  he'll  swim  ashore  !"  "  Done  !" 
Vieuxtemps,  meanwhile,  had  jumped  into  a 
boat  and  ordered  the  waterman  to  rescue  the 
unhappy  creature.  But  a  roar  came  from  the 
bridge,  "  Leave  him  alone !  there's  a  bet  on." 
The  waterman,  with  the  true  British  love  of 
sport,  at  once  refused  to  interfere,  and  the  un- 
happy man  wis  drovnie^'  ^t  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Dumas  has  uit.  ti.is  incident  in  one 
of  his  novels. 

True  to  his  country,  the  L  an-cMiiim  *s  a  gam- 
bler. From  his  British  ancestor  he  has  inher- 
ited this  vice.  From  his  American  cousin  he 
has  received  much  encouragement,  and  the 
American  national  indoor  game  was  never  so 
popular  as  it  is  in  Montreal  to-day.  The  num- 
ber of  "sessions"  being  held  upon  any  given 
night  at  draw-poker  cannot  be  fairly  estimated 
nor  even  approximately  estimated. 

This  particular  form  of  gambling  has  burst 
like  a  storm  over  Lower  Canada,  and  finds  its 
headquarters  in  Montreal.  The  enterprising 
Canuck  is  an  apt  pupil  and  the  city  which 
some  years  ago  was  fair  game  for  the  adven- 


i!'^ 


■■ 


m^ 


THE  BPIDKB's  WBB. 


139 


turers  from  over  the  border  is  now  pretty 
tough  plucking.  Its  experts  can  now  hold 
their  own,  and  often  some  of  their  neighbors' ; 
for  in  them  is  combined  the  cunning  of  the 
Scotchman,  the  stolid  persistence  of  the  Eng- 
lishman, and  the  audacity  of  the  American. 
Small  wonder  is  it  that,  as  a  Montreal  sport 
lately  stated,  "game  is  scarce." 

Draw-poker  holds  sway  at  the  hotels.  Not 
a  night  passes  but  half  a  dozen  amateur  sports, 
from  the  six  hundred-a-year  clerk  to  the  flour- 
ishing grain-merchant  and  the  railway  mag- 
nate, slowly,  and  one  at  a  time,  glide  upstairs 
and  are  seen  no  more. 

Of  rooms  for  this  purpose  there  are  many 
in  every  quarter  of  the  city.  They  are  splen- 
didly patronized,  and  "the  little  lady  in  the 
centre,"  otherwise  called  "the  only  winner" 
and  "  the  best  player,"  must  be  well  attended 
to,  for  the  proprietors  walk  St.  James  Street 
in  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  their  diamonds 
sparkle  in  the  sunlight. 

In  company  with  two  others,  we  were 
"  steered" — this  I  believe  is  the  proper  term — 


140 


THE   SPIDEk's   web 


to  several  of  the  most  prominent  and  best 
known.     Our  trip  was  not  without  interest. 

In  a  fine  three-story  building  on  Craig 
Street,  not  far  from  St.  Lambert's  Hill,  is  the 
finest  establishment  for  the  delectation  of  "the 
fancy"  in  the  city  ;  and  thither  one  Saturday 
night  we  bent  our  steps. 

Descending  Beaver  Hall  Hill,  we  turned 
our  steps  eastward  along  Craig  Street,  and 
presently  found  ourselves  opposite  a  wooden 
door  forming  part  of  a  porch  attached  to  a 
handsome  stone  building.  Pushing  open  the 
door,  a  Hight  of  steps  rose  before  us. 

Arriv^ed  at  the  top  step,  our  upwaru  progress 
is  barred  by  a  massive  nail-studded  door.  A 
ring  at  the  bell,  and  we  find  ourselves  the 
objects  of  surveillance  through  an  eye-hole. 
The  result  of  the  investigation  seems  satisfac- 
tory ;  a  sound  of  bolts  withdrawn  is  heard,  and 
we  find  ourselves  in  a  large  passage. 

Through  two  open  doors,  a  room  running 
the  entire  depth  of  the  house  is  seen.  It  is 
neatly  carpeted,  and  the  furnishings,  if  not 
costly,  are  at  least  complete  and  comfortable. 


THK   spider's   web. 


141 


In  the  far  corner,  placed  diagonally,  is  a  hand- 
some sofa. 

In  the  corner  opposite  to  the  sofa  is  a  table, 
the  general  appearance  of  which  is  familiar. 
At  the  side,  but  behind  it,  is  the  elevated  chair 
of  the  lookout. 

Plainly,  the  gamblers'  game  known  to  out- 
siders as  **  faro,"  but  to  the  sport  as  "  de 
bank,"  is  not  in  fashion  just  now.  No  stacks 
of  checks  ornament  the  layout ;  no  innocent- 
looking  and  open-faced  box  is  visible.  The 
sports  have  deserted  it,  and  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room  are  gathered  together  in  the  name  of 
"stud-poker." 

Seated  over  a  large  table  and  facing  the 
dealer  are  the  sports.  The  look  of  the  play- 
ers does  not  carry  with  it  any  assurance  of 
financial  prosperity.  Amongst  ten  players 
there  are  two  clean  collars,  six  unclean,  and 
two  without.  This  would  be  a  bad  average 
for  a  jury.  There  are  but  three  well-dressed 
men  in  the  lot.  But  of  money  there  appears 
to  be  no  lack.  Stacks  of  checks  and  rolls  of 
bills  appear,  disappear,  and  change  owners 
with  startling  frequency  and  suddenness. 


k   I 


142 


THK  spider's   web. 


To  men  used  to  American  gambling-houses 
there  is  more  noise  and  talk  than  usual.  All 
hands  laugh,  chat,  and  occasionally  mutter  a 
curse,  not  loud  but  deep  ;  but  there  is  no  quar- 
relling, no  dispute  of  any  kind.  An  admirable 
order  prevails. 

The  dealer  is  an  old  hand,  and  he  "  rakes 
off"  with  a  liberality  which  would  suggest  to 
even  the  most  inexperienced  that  he  gets  "  a 
bit"  of  the  '' kitty,"— i.i  French,  "cagnotte." 
He  is  a  big  stout  man,  with  a  round  head  and 
closely  cropped  hair,  but  there  is  about  him  an 
air  of  sturdy  honesty  and  good-humor,  and  with- 
al, a  keen  shrewdness.  VVe  are  informed  that 
he  is  a  contractor,  and  that  this  is  but  a  side- 
issue  with  him.  We  are  pleased  at  this  charm- 
ingly indefinite  statement, — we  have  to  be, — 
and  we  mentally  wish  for  a  share  in  so  profit- 
able a  side-issue  ourselves. 

The  first  man  upon  his  left  is  young,  stout, 
and  almost  guiltless  of  mustache.  He  owns 
a  prosperous  grocery,  left  him  by  his  father. 
Next  him  is  a  small  man  with  keen  black  eyes, 
who  rarely  speaks.  He  is  a  Frenchman,  and 
evidently  a  rare  good  player.     His  neighbor  is 


TIIK   SPIDER'S   WKB. 


143 


a  rather  good-looking  young  man  ;  but  he  is 
no  veteran,  and  he  nervously  fingers  his  checks. 
The  others  are  much  of  a  kind,  with  one  ex- 
ception. 

A  strongly  built  mm  of  about  thirty-five  at- 
tracts attention.  He  sports  a  heavy  black 
mustache,  his  linen  is  of  the  finest  quality,  and 
upon  his  little  finger  a  diamond  of  outrageous 
size  sparkles.  He  is  the  talker  of  the  party, 
and  what  his  conversation  lacks  in  wit,  it 
atones  far  in  Irish  brogue  and  wild  disregard 
of  grammar.  He  is  the  ostensible  owner;  inese 
others  are  silent  partners. 

This  house  is  famous.  In  days  gone  by  a 
firm  of  Western  sports  ran  it,  and  at  its  roulette 
wheel  large  sums  were  won  and  lost.  In  its 
loft  a  prize-fight  of  some  quality  was  decided; 
and  there  is  an  air  of  mystery  about  the 
premises,  entirely  in  accord  with  fights,  tips, 
wins  and  losses. 

But  is  this  game  never  interfered  with.  It 
has  been;  but  the  coming  event  had  c  ,  Its 
shadow  before,  and  no  serious  results  followed. 
It  will  be  again,  but  unless  the  present  entente 
cordiale  is  severed  no  good  will  ensue. 


A:. 


144 


THE  SPIDEB^S  WEB. 


From  this  it  might  be  surmised  that  "  the 
pull"  in  Montreal  is  just  as  useful  and  as 
strongly  used  as  in  New  York.  The  surmise, 
I  am  informed,  would  be  correct. 

Taking  our  leave  of  here,  we  descended  tlic 
narrow  stairway,  and  the  cool  air  strikes  our 
faces.  Along  Craig  Street  we  walked,  and  up 
what  seems  to  be  a  busy  street  in  daytime,  but 
is  now  silent  and  almost  deserted. 

A  short  distance  up,  and  we  stop  at  a  door 
between  two  stairs,  and  evidently  opening  on  a 
stairway  to  the  rooms  above.  Ascending  the 
stairs  no  iron-bound  door  bars  our  upward 
progress,  no  lookout  surveys  our  respectability 
through  an  eyehole.  Everything  is  wide  open. 
Here  do  they  fear  no  enemy — neither  winter, 
rough  weather,  nor  meddling  police.  In  two 
large  rooms,  separated  by  folding-doors,  two 
groups  of  men  sit  around  tables,  at  draw-poker 
engaged.  Three  men  are  standing  up  looking 
on.  Upon  a  sofa  in  the  corner  of  one  of  the 
rooms  a  man  is  stretched  sleeping. 

The  air  in  these  rooms  is  simply  stifling.  It 
would  have  weakened  those  undaunted  sala- 
manders of  Scripture  Vvho  scorned  the  petty 


TDK   SPIDKK*8   WKB. 


145 


terrors  of  the  seven-times-heatcd  fiery  furnace, 
but  it  produces  no  impression  upon  the 
Canadian  converts  to  America's  game,  who 
nightly  assemble  here.  All  are  too  busy — the 
losers  trying  to  get  even,  the  winners  trying  to 
hold  their  own. 

And  what  a  motley  collection!  The  question 
at  once  enters  our  minds,  "Who  are  they  all  ?" 

Fortunately  one  of  the  party  is  posted,  and 
he  whispers  to  us  the  players*  story. 

The  little  man  with  tiny  hn  ds  and  short 
black  beard  bears  a  historical  name.  At  one 
time  he  was  rich,  he  failed  in  business  many 
years  ago,  and  since  then  he  has  no  visible 
means  of  support.  Still  he  finds  money 
enough  to  play  and  to  pay.  He  looks  at 
variance  with  his  surroundings^ — this  gentleman 
by  birth  and  education,  if  not  by  profession. 
Next  him  is  a  short  stout  man  with  a  shifting 
expression  of  face  and  a  whining  voice.  He 
claims  to  be  a  horse-dealer.  His  neighbor  is 
a  handsome  man,  whose  appearance  bespeaks 
him  the  man  of  business.  He  is  a  prosperous 
hardware  merchant ;  but  he  has  the  fever, 
and  judging  from  the  pile  of  checks  in  front  of 


146 


THE  spider's   web. 


him  he  appears  io  have  the  luck.  A  stout 
young  man,  who  speaks  admirable  French,  but 
with  an  English  accent,  has  just  left  his  seat:  he 
is  cleaned  out ;  but  his  place  is  quickly  tilled  by 
a  blond  young  man  with  a  gentlemanly  manner 
and  a  smooth  voice. 

The  proprietor  is  playing  at  the  other  table. 
He  is  stout  and  dark,  with  a  heavv  mustache 
and  large  hands  and  feet.  lie  talks  continu- 
ously and  curses  loudly.  Born  with  consider- 
able brains  and  well  educated,  he  has  not  seen 
fit  to  turn  his  ability  to  anything  better  than 
"le  jeu  et  les  femmes." 

This  place,  like  the  other,  is  quiet  and  or- 
derly. There  is  no  unseemly  noise,  no  quar- 
rel, and  much  talk.  All  appears  fair  and  above- 
board.  The  pigeon  may  be  getting  plucked, 
but  his  money  is  not  stolen. 

Along  St.  Joseph  Street  and  not  far  from  a 
prominent  hostelry  is  another  but  less  savory 
spot.  Over  a  store,  its  entrance  is  upon  the 
main  street  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs.  At  the 
head  a  gas-jet  burns  and  an  open  door  reveals 
the  inside  of  a  scantily  furnished  room. 

This  game  is  run  by  two  Frenchmen,  verbose 


n.  tv »■  r^AM.b_t^-«.\i,,iL'^\A.^s.^a^^ 


THE  spider's  web. 


Ul 


reputation  is  none  of  the  best  even  in  their 
own  set.  They  are  looked  down  upon  as  a 
refutation  of  the  proverb  of  "  honor  amongst 
thieves."  The  better  class  of  gamblers  will 
have  none  of  them,  and  their  patrons  are  prin- 
cipally men  who  would  not  be  admitted  in  any 
of  the  respectable  games. 

On  St.  Catherine  Street,  East,  over  a  billiard- 
saloon  is  run  the  biggest  poker-room  in  the  city. 
Four  tables  in  one  room,  and  that  room  no 
bigger  than  an  ordinary  drawing-room  !  Surely 
love  of  poker  is  stronger  in  a  Frenchman  than 
love  of  fresh  air. 

The  gambling  fever  has  certainly  struck 
Montreal.  It  is  epidemic  and  very  conta- 
gious, and,  unless  nipped,  it  bids  fair  to  be- 
come permanent.  The  day  when  faro  is  run 
with  open  doors,  as  in  Chicago  some  years  ago, 
may  be  far  distant  from  Montreal.  It  may 
never  come,  but  the  city  is  drifting  in  that  di- 
rection. Unless  checked  it  may  ultimately 
reach  that  bad  eminence. 

Who  will  inaugurate  the  crusade  ? 


148 


THE  6TBEBTS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE   STREETS. 


What  ideas  are  conjured  up  by  these  words 
— the  streets  ! 

"The  Streets  of  New  York"  is  of  course  the 
first  if  we  are  of  a  dramatic  turn  of  mind,  and 
the  exciting  scenes  of  that  lurid  melodrama 
again  pass  before  us.  From  that  we  think  of 
Broadway  with  its  endless  crowd  of  strollers, 
its  pretty  women  and  handsome  men.  We  are 
carried  in  fancy  back  to  Sixth  Avenue  at 
night,  or  the  noisy  and  crowded  Bowery  with 
its  gin-palaces  and  its  dives. 

Paris  then,  and  its  brilliantly  lighted  boule- 
vards, and  London  with  its  hideous  Strand. 

But  soft  !  we  have  left  Montreal  behind, 
and  we  must  retrace  our  steps. 

Sherbrooke  Street  with  its  promenaders  in 
soft  clinging  furs  can  hardly  be  accorded  a 
place  in  "  Montreal  by  Gaslight."  Seen  at 
night,  it  is  lonely  and  quiet.     An  air  of  aristo- 


THB  STBSBTS. 


149 


cratic  repose  is  upon  it  and  its  gas-lamps  twin- 
kle with  subdued  light.  Occasionally  a  private 
carriage  with  closely-drawn  windows  rolls 
smoothly  by,  and  the  muffled-up  faces  of  its  oc- 
cupants bespeak  the  return  from  ball  or  thea- 
tre. Over  the  street  hangs  a  haze  ;  the  noise  of 
busy  strife  in  the  city  below  comes  to  it,  but 
its  rest  is  undisturbed,  and  in  the  shadow  of 
Mount  Royal  it  reposes  in  grateful  seclusion. 

But  three  streets  below  a  change  comes  over 
the  spirit  of  our  dream.  There  is  a  bustle  and 
stir  different  from  what  we  last  saw.  It  jars 
upon  our  quieted  nerves.  We  can  now  see  that 
we  have  left  rest  behind,  and  that  here  is  felt 
the  first  breath  of  toil. 

On  every  hand  is  life,  active  and  aggressive  ; 
stores  with  goods  alluringly  displayed  ;  brilliant 
electric  lights ;  and  crowding,  bustling  human- 
ity. 

Upon  a  corner  a  group  of  young  men  are 
standing.  Some  of  them,  athletic  and  well  built, 
are  engaged  in  heated  dispute. 

"  He  will." 

*'  He  won't." 


160 


THB  STBBETS. 


The  discussion  waxes  warmer.  The  question 
is  left  to  a  third. 

"Will  Charley  run  in  the  steeplechase  to- 
morrow ?" 

Only  this  and  nothing  more ;  and  we  pass 
on  disappointed.  Evidently  we  are  in  an 
athletic  quarter. 

A  little  farther  down  another  group  obstructs 
the  sidewalk. 

"  You  will." 

"  I  won't." 

"  I  say  you  will." 

The  discussion  ends  with  both  men  moving 
toward  a  red  light  not  far  away.  We  think 
of  Rip  Van  Winkle  and  again  move  away. 
Evidently  there  is  a  saloon  in  the  vicinity. 

Farther  down  St.  Catherine  Street  we 
stroll,  and  at  the  corner  of  Bleury  Street  a 
halt  is  called.     Again  we  listen. 

"  She  looked  at  you." 

"  Well,  what  if  she  did  ?  I  am  the  hand- 
somest of  the  party." 

This  pleasantry  causes  roars  of  laughter 
from  the  knot  of  young  fellows,  rather  loudly 
dressed,  who  stand  upon  the  curb  and  keep  one 


i 


I 


f 


1 


THE  STBESTS. 


101 


eye  open  for  the  policeman  and  another  for 

the  females. 

This  must  be  "Where  the  Sparrows  and 
Chippies  Parade"  in  old  Montreal. 

Truly  the  observant  man  may  gather  some 
information  about  his  neighborhood  from  the 
scraps  of  conversation  about  him. 

St.  Catherine  Street  is  a  sort  of  local  Sixth 
Avenue  for  Montreal.  At  night  it  is  a  parade 
for  the  clerk,  the  servant,  and  any  one  whose 
business  calls  them  from  the  West  End  to  the 
East  or  vice  versa.  It  is  shoddy  and  unfash- 
ionable at  night,  but  in  the  afternoon  it  is  the 
promenade  of  the  "  nobility,  gentry,  and  bank 
clerks  of  the  city,"  and  also  ibr  the  rising  soci- 
ety belles.  Not  to  "  do"  St.  Catherine  Street 
at  least  one  afternoon  in  the  week,  especially 
Saturday,  is  to  admit  an  unfamiliarity  with  the 
manners  and  customs  of  good  society  in  Mon- 
treal. 

This  does  not  apply  to  Sunday  afternoons. 
On  this  day  St.  Catherine  Street  is  given  over 
to  Jane  and  Bridget,  who  walk  up  and  down 
from  Bleury  to  Mountain  streets  and  meet 
'•'Arry"  and  "Jeames." 


152 


THE   STKEKTS. 


But  here  we  are  forgetting  that  this  is  be- 
coming a  story  of  daylight,  and  that  the  gas- 
light part  is  overlooked. 

St.  James  and  Notre  Dame  streets  upon 
any  night  but  Saturday  are  almost  deserted. 
The  electric  light's  cold  rays  fall  upon  closed 
doors  and  dark  entrances.  The  huge  retail 
stores  on  either  side  are  closed,  the  offices 
silent  and  deserted.  A  twenty  years'  sleep  has 
fallen  upon  the  street. 

Eastward  there  is  some  change.  Here  the 
prowlers  and  night-hawks  of  every  kind  and 
both  sexes  loiter  and  lie  in  wait,  like  Satan, 
seeking  whom  they  may  de/our. 

Around  the  post-office  and  the  Bank  of 
Montreal  is  fast  becoming  a  miniature  Strand. 
It  is  a  stamping-ground  for  men  and  women  of 
the  lowest  class.  They  walk  St.  Jan  es  Street 
from  St.  Frangois  Xavier  Street  at  the  post- 
office  corner  to  St.  Lambert  Hill  and  repeat, 
in  trotting  phrase.  The  eye  of  the  police 
should  be  turned  toward  this  and  the  street 
cleared.     The  evil  must  be  nipped  in  the  bud. 

St.  Joseph  Street  on  a  Saturday  night  is 
assuredly  one  of  the  sights  of  the  city.     Here 


m&i^^S&^mM,-^ 


THE  STBEBT8. 


US 


are  to  be  seen  the  belles  of  Goose  Village, 
otherwise  called  Griffintown,  dressed  in  their 
Saturday-night  best  and  looking  sweet  and 
Irish.  The  promenaders  here  are  as  Irish  as 
Paddy's  pig,  and  in  addition  have  often  the 
traditional  beauty  and  virtue  of  the  dwellers  in 
the  Emerald  Isle.  Here  the  masher  and  the 
chappie  do  not  promenade,  for  the  hunt  for 
prey  would  most  likely  be  unsuccessful.  In 
and  around  this  district  the  Shamrock  Lacrosse 
Club  holds  sway  in  the  hearts  of  the  inhabitants 
thereof.  Shamrock  victory  is  a  reasoR  for 
wild  demonstrations  and  inordinate  consump- 
tion of  the  smoky  product  of  Milesian  distil- 
leries. But  a  Shamrock  defeat  brings  a  short 
season  of  sackcloth  and  ashes,  but  always  the 
same  whisky. 

Upon  this  street  are  fine  retail  stores  and 
dirty,  insignificant  shops,  a  magnificent  hotel, 
the  Balmoral,  and  a  countless  number  of  small 
and  more  or  less  respectable  houses.  But  al- 
ways and  ever  is  to  be  seen  "the  gin-mill." 
Along  St.  Joseph  Street  they  run  about  four 
to  the  block.  It  is  a  stronghold  of  Jol  i 
Barleycorn. 


154 


THE  STBEST8. 


St.  Joseph  Street  is  one  of  the  main  arteries 
of  the  city.  It  runs  the  entire  length  of  the 
city  from  St.  Henry,  the  southwestern  suburb 
of  Montreal,  to  Hochelaga  the  southeastern 
suburb,  and  it  can  proudly  boast  that  upon 
two  sides  are  lined  twice  as  many  saloons  as  on 
any  other  street  in  Montreal.  This  at  least  en- 
titles it  to  consideration,  if  not  distinction. 

But  the  street  par  excellence  where  Mon- 
treal is  to  be  seen  au  naturel ;  the  boulevard 
whereupon  strolls  the  grand  flaneur;  the 
street  where  walk  the  pimp  and  the  prostitute  ; 
where  saloons,  museums,  confectionery  and 
retail  dry-goods  stores  form  almost  the  entire 
length  ;  where  ground-floors  are  used  for  busi- 
ness purposes,  and  the  upper  flats  for  gambling 
and  vilest  debauchery ;  where  tobacco-stores 
and  candy-stores,  ostensibly  respectable,  are  but 
dens  of  infamy,  where  liquor  is  sold  after  hours 
and  on  Sundays  without  even  the  aid  of  the 
little  side  door — that  street  is  St.  Lawrence 
Main  Street. 

Here  is  a  taste  of  spicy  immorality.  In  such 
a  field  will  surely  be  found  food  for  reflection. 


THB  STBBBTS. 


156 


We  begin  at  the  foot  of  the  street,  and  with  open 
eyes  and  ears  take  in  the  sights  and  sounds. 

In  reversal  of  the  ordinary  ideas,  the  fash- 
ionable side  of  St.  Lawrence  Street  is  the  East 
Side.  The  West  Side  is  all  very  well  for  the 
man  of  business,  or  the  busy  wife  hurrying 
home  from  market ;  but  for  the  visitor  who 
would  study  the  street  and  its  characters,  the 
East  Side  is  the  only  one  his  wandering  steps 
should  mark. 

Not  far  from  the  lower  end  Is  a  saloon  kept 
by  the  prot^gd  of  a  notorious  woman  who 
keeps  a  brothel  not  many  blocks  away.  Her 
money  started  the  •  business,"  and,  although 
the  place  is  occasi(  aally  closed  owing  to  the 
"  illness"  of  the  pre  :)rietor,  it  does  a  flourishing 
trade. 

A  little  higher  up  is  a  saloon  whose  violation 
of  the  liquor  laws  is  flagrant  and  persistent. 
No  side  door  is  necessary,  the  front  door 
being  deemed  good  enough.  It  is  a  pretty 
tough  spot,  but  no  tougher  than  its  patrons, 
and  not  one  half  as  tough  as  the  liquor  it 
dispenses. 


166 


THE  STBSBTS. 


Above  this  saloon  is  a  gambling-house,  also 
in  full  blast  with  open  doors.  There  should 
be  a  fortune  in  these  two  places. 

Across  the  street  is  a  most  notorious  saloon, 
"The  Frog."  The  origin  of  this  name  is  lost 
in  the  mists  of  antiquity,  but  the  frequenters 
of  the  little  back  parlor  of  this  cloister  are  of 
the  lowest  class.  It  has  not  been  decided  as 
to  whether  the  men  or  the  women  are  the 
toughest.  The  visitor  would  likely  call  it  a 
stand-off. 

A  dry-goods  store  on  a  very  prominent  cor- 
ner is  respectability  itself ;  but  the  floors 
above,  to  which  entrance  is  gained  by  a  side 
street,  are  occupied  for  purposes  better  left  un- 
said. The  convenience  of  such  an  arrange- 
ment as  having  an  immoral  house  upon  a  main 
thoroughfare  cannot  be  denied,  but  its  advisa- 
bility from  a  moral  point  of  view  may  be  ques- 
tioned. 

A  little  higher  up,  on  the  other  side,  is  a 
small  and  neatly  fitted  up  tobacco-store.  Be- 
hind its  counter  a  faded  but  still  handsome 
woman  attends  to  our  wants,  and  from  her 
comes  no  sign  of  anything  uncanny  about  the 


THE  8TBEET8. 


167 


store.  But  presently  from  behind  the  partition 
dividing  us  from  the  rear  of  the  shop  comes  a 
sound  of  female  laughter. 

We  look  at  the  woman  inquiringly  and 
smile. 

The  smile  is  reflected,  and  she  asks, 

"  Would  you  gentlemen  like  to  step  inside?'' 

The  gentlemen  having  "been  there  before, 
many  a  time,"  upon  the  Bowery  and  elsewhere, 
decline  and  express  a  preference  for  the  outside 
and  leave. 

Still  higher  up  is  a  large  and  quiet-looking 
hotel.  Its  innocence,  we  are  informed,  is  in 
its  looks,  for  it  answers  the  purpose  of  the 
"  Parsley,"  the  "  West  Side,"  or  some  similar 
choice  spots  known  to  the  resident  of 
Gotham. 

In  our  interest  and  curiosity  as  regards  the 
buildings  and  their  occupation,  the  people  up- 
on the  street  have  passed  almost  unnoticed. 
We  recollect  [ourselves. 

The  e  is  a  decided  Third  Avenue  look  about 
them.  No  silk  or  satin  rustles  past  us — it  is 
cotton  and  fustian  ;  no  diamonds — only  jet  and 
coral,  and  imitation  at  that,  if  our  untrained 


% 


168 


TIIK   HTREETS. 


eye  docs  not  deceive  us.  Some  of  the  women 
pass  us  without  a  look ;  some  indeed  need 
to  bestow  no  looks  upon  us,  for  their  profes- 
sion is  written  in  their  l)razen  faces.  Others 
young  and  pleasant-looking  if  not  pretty, 
smile  at  us.  In  many  cases,  if  we  consider  her 
deserving,  we  return  the  young  lady's  smile. 
But  we  pass  through  the  furnace  unscathed. 

The  men  do  not  call  for  special  notice. 
They  are  of  the  very  lowest  middle  class— French 
dry-goods  clerks  out  on  the  loose,  or  bar-room 
loafers,  with  here  and  there  a  fine,  respectable- 
looking  Frenchman.  Two  groups  of  young 
men  are  standing  on  the  corner.  They  are 
Englishmen,  evidently,  doing  the  town.  They 
will  soon  have  enough. 

With  pleasure  we  turn  from  St.  Lawrence 
Street  into  St.  Catherine  Street  and  move  east- 
ward. 

On  either  side  the  cross  streets  are  dark  and 
unfrequented.  There  is  an  air  of  mystery 
about  them,  and  from  occasional  glimpses, 
sights,  and  sounds  we  reason  to  ourselves  that 
this  is  the  "Tenderloin  Precinct." 

Our  reasoning  once  more  is  correct,     Sud- 


:^ 


THB  RTBETSTS, 


150 


denly  a  tall,  handsome  church  rises  before  us; 
above  and  below  runs  a  fine,  wide  street.  It 
has  an  air  of  distinction  and  quiet  about  it,  so 
different  from  the  streets  we  have  left  behind 
us  that  we  wonder.  Surely  this  street  is  an 
oasis  in  the  desert. 

Again  we  have  guessed  aright,  for  on  this 
street  live  many  of  the  leading  French  families: 
it  is  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  in  miniature. 

From  a  hasty  observation  of  Montreal's 
streets,  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  are  order- 
ly and,  as  far  as  can  be  expected  in  a  large  city, 
unobjectionable.  There  art  no  sights  to  of- 
fend the  eye  of  modesty ;  no  disturbances. 
Montreal  at  least  keeps  her  vices  hidden. 
Her  seamy  side  is  not  seen  in  her  orderly,  well- 
kept,  and  peaceful  streets. 


ggy. 


■■ 


100 


THE  STATION-HOUSE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   STATIC  N-H  O  U  S  E 

In  every  city  there  is  at  least  one  place 
in  which  the  novelist  or  the  philosopher  may 
find  food  for  reflection,  if  not  character  for  re- 
production. Ej  his  habitation  in  the  simple 
village,  the  provincial  town,  or  the  cruel  and 
pitiless  city,  he  has  one  spot  where  he  may 
cast  his  drag-net  and  be  certain  of  a  catch. 

And  what  a  sight  does  he  view  there  !  The 
waifs  and  strays  of  humanity ;  the  idle,  the 
vicious,  the  unfortunate — all  the  wastes  and 
burdens  of  society.  Some  arc  there  because  ot 
their  offences  against  the  laws  of  society,  but 
some  also  are  there  because  they  have  nowhere 
else  tc  lay  their  heads.  Often  it  may  be  that 
some  innocent  lies  upon  the  Lard  flo  >r,  while  the 
criminal  foi  whom  he  suffers  is  sleeping  at  his 
ease  under  the  same  roof  as  hoiesty  and  virtue. 
All  unhappy,  aii  wretched,  but  some  hopeful. 


A  «rgfci  filCTe.it.  fcJtf -■  1.-  tm 


THE   STATION-HOUSE. 


161 


*•  Poor  children  of  man,  said  the  pitying  spirit, 
How  dearly  ye   pay  for   your   primal   fall  !" 

Surely  no  one  knows  it  better  or  feels  more 
keenly  this  sad  truth  than  he  who  has  seen  his 
fellow-men — brutal  and  drunken  it  may  be,  but 
still  men — driven  by  stern  necessity  to  the  cold 
and  uncharitable  walls  of  "  the  station." 

In  various  cities  it  is  known  under  different 
names,  and  the  small  wits  of  the  lower  classes 
have  outdone  themselves  in  their  efforts  to  ex- 
tract humor  from  the  subject.  But  after  all, 
would  it  not  take  a  Dickens  to  see  the  funny 
side  of  "the  stone  jug" — would  not  Sydney 
Smith  himself  forget  to  joke  if  "pinched" 
some  night  and  sent  to  "  the  cooler." 

What  impression  the  first  sight  of  a  police 
station  leaves  upon  its  unwelcome  and  unsatis- 
fied guest !  Do  human  hearts  beat  under  those 
Uniforms  ?  Does  this  strange  silence  which  sur- 
rounds him  mean  that  he  is  by  the  world  for- 
got. Are  these  damp  walls  weeping  for  him 
and  for  his  sad  fate  ? 

In  sheer  despair  he  remembers  that  walls 
have  ears,  Sind  fo  them  he  drones  the  pitiful 
Btory ;  but  they  will  not  hear.     Even  the  echo 


.:^S 


MBMUI 


L 


162 


THE   STATION -HOUSE. 


of  his  own  voice  frightens  him,  and  he  sinks  in 
stupor,  if  not  slumber  upon  the  hard  floor. 

Every  night  in  Montreal  sees  within  its  sta- 
tion walls  the  acts,  be  they  initial  or  closing,  of 
some  sad  tragedy.  The  officers  witness  such 
scenes  of  terror,  of  shame,  and  of  vice  as  would 
melt  a  heart  of  stone.  It  is  true  that  constant 
repetition  has  inbred  in  the  police  official  a  cer- 
tain stolidity  :  he  sees  a  crime  and  a  criminal — 
an  offence  and  the  offender ;  but  often  he  for- 
gets the  sad  story  back  of  it  all. 

And  yet  if  he  sees  only  the  act  and  the  actor 
is  it  not  true  that  the  dual  life  exists  which 
he  does  not  or  will  not  see  ? 

^las  not  the  criminal  before  him  a  sister  who 
will  henceforih  wilk  with  lowered  head  ;  a 
mother  whose  heart  will  never  seem  young 
again  ;  a  brother  whose  face  will  blanch  at  the 
disgrace  to  an  honored  family? 

Surely  it  is  so. 

A  visit  to  any  of  the  smaller  police  stations 
in    Montreal  will  not  bo  devoid   of   interest. 

We  shall  see  the  drama  of  humanitv  acted  as 
It  never  was  on  any  stage  ;  we  shall  see  a  piece 


THE  STATION-BOUSE. 


1(J» 


Staged  with  a  realism  which  defies  the  skill  of 
an  Irving  or  a  Daly. 

And  the  actors  who  will  take  an  unwilling 
part  in  this  performance — who  are  they  ? 

They  are  unknown  to  fiune  ;  the  world  has 
never  seen  them  before — never  perhaps  heard 
of  them.  They  are  unheralded  with  gaudy, 
posters  and  fraudulent  advance  notices,  and 
but  a  few  lines  in  the  next  morning's  paper  will 
reward  their  performance. 

But  what  perfection  of  detail,  what  intensity 
of  purposes,  what  completeness  of  effect  I 

Tears  and  grief  such  as  Haworth  never  gave  ; 
drunken  humor  which  the  genius  of  a  Knight 
in  vain  attempts  to  copy  ;  tricks  of  manner,  in- 
flations of  voice,  to  baffle  the  experience  and 
study  of  a  Coquelin. 

Ah,  my  friends,  it  is  here  that  we  remember 
Hamlet's  saying  that 

•'  The  play's  the  thing 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king." 

The  conscic^ncc  of  the  subject  can  be  caught 
by  the  drama,  as  seen  at  the  police-station. 
There  are  no  footlights,  no  applause,  and  but  few 


■f't 


164 


THE  8TATI0X-H0USB. 


spectators ;  but  the  performance  has  a  sad  per- 
fectioii,  not  to  be  found  elsewhere. 

At  this  minute  in  one  of  the  branch  police- 
stations  one  of  these  scenes  is  being  enacted 
We  cannot  see  the  entire  play — the  four  acts, 
the  prologue,  and  the  epilogue  ;  but  one  scene 
is  offered  for  our  instruction,  and  we  will  not 
refuse  to  grace  the  occasion  by  our  presence. 

The  rolling  and  the  rattle  of  wheels  is  heard, 
and  a  carriage  drives  up  to  the  door  of  the 
station-house,  and  an  officer  in  uniform  alights. 
There  are  still  two  occupants  remaining  in  the 
cab,  and  the  conversation  strikes  our  ears. 

'•  Let  me  go,  will  you  ?" 

"Come  out." 

"  Let  me  go — for  God's  sake  let  me  go,  and 
I'll  never-—" 

"  Come  out." 

"  Oh,  please  let  me  go.  I'll  give  you  ten — 
twenty — " 

*'  Come,  now,  or  I'll  make  you." 

"  Hit  me,  would  you  ?  You  won't  club  me, 
I  tell  you.    There,  take  that." 

-  Oh— h  !— "  1 

The  sound  of  what  follows  is  dreadful.    The 


\ 

' 

■« 

'(Jl 

>* 

•D 

i--^ 

f 

> 

I 


THE  STATION-nOUSB. 


165 


f 


blows  of  the  policeman's  baton  are  falling  upon 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  untamable  pris- 
oner. Then  the  noise  becomes  faint,  and  only 
a  low  moaning  is  heard. 

From  the  cab  another  officer  alights.  The 
scene  has  not  occupied  ten  seconds,  yet  it 
seemed  an  age.  Two  strong  policemen  issue 
from  the  station-house  and  assist  their  com- 
panions to  carry  the  senseless  man  into  the  cell. 
As  he  is  borne  within,  a  stream  of  blood  trickles 
down  from  his  nerveless  hands  and  leaves  a 
crimson  trail. 

What  is  his  story  ?  What  are  the  first  acts 
of  this  sad  drama  ? 

This  man  is  no  common  criminal  ;  he  has  a 
wife  and  family,  money  and  position,  and  his 
present  plight  will  cause  his  social  ruin.  He 
has  been  found  beating  a  low  woman  half  to 
death  in  a  common  brothel.  His  shameful 
passions  are  costing  him  dear. 

But  stay!  a  noise  is  heard  without,  and  seven 
young  men  like  Eugene  Aram  "  with  gyves 
upon  their  wrists."  Some  with  shamefaced  air 
hide  themselves  behind  their  companions  in 
misfortune,  and   look   as  if  a   second  fate  o< 


166 


THE  STATION-HaUSB. 


Sodom  and  Gomorrah  would  be  welcomed  by 
them  to  Montreal.  Others  put  on  a  bold  front ; 
they  laugh  and  jest  in  a  feeble  way,  but  their 
laughter  has  a  hollow  sound  like  clods  of  earth 
falling  upon  a  coffin.  These  low  classes  have 
not  yet  served  their  apprenticeship  in  wrong- 
doing, and  at  this  hrst  glimpse  of  justice  they 
falter  and  tremble.  '    mi 

Not  so  with  some  of  the  others.  They  have 
been  there  before — many  a  time  :  they  know 
the  penalty  and  are  prepared. 

They  are  not  common  loafers,  arrested  in 
some  low  East  End  dive  and  awaiting  confine- 
ment and  sentence  as  "  habitual  frequenters  of 
the  same."  Their  entire  appearance,  even  with 
their  present  surroundings,  speaks  the  gentle- 
men. 

This  same  night  they  have  been  strolling 
through  the  unclassic  regions  alnjut  St.  Law- 
rence and  St.  Catherine  Street,  East. 

Secure  in  their  numbers,  they  had  made  more 
noise  and  created  a  greater  ( isturbance  than 
even  the  St.  Lawience  Street  policemen  would 
allow,  and  after  a  short  chase  they  reposed  safe 
in  the  arms  of  the  posse  parading  that  district. 


.Si^HadiMSSS^: 


TBB  STATIOK-HorSH* 


167 


To-morrow  morning  they  will  appear  before 
the  Magistrate  or  the  Recorder,  be  accused  of 
creating  a  disturbance  on  the  public  streets,  and 
fined.  In  triumph  they  will  return  and  tell 
their  adventures  to  their  own  select  set. 

But  some  of  them  as  yet  do  not  see  the 
bright  side  of  the  case.  They  are  thinking  of 
the  long  night  in  the  cold,  dark  cell,  the  hard 
floor,  the  bread  and  water,  and,  worst  of  all,  the 
publicity  next  morning. 

A  shuffle  of  feet  at  the  doorway  attracts 
attention.  A  female  voice,  harsh  and  unmusi- 
cal, grates  upon  the  hearing. 

"  I  won't  go  it." 

More  scuffling,  a  few  choice  expressions,  and 
a  woman,  half  carried,  half  dragged  in  by  two 
constables,  comes  into  view. 

She  is  not  altogether  ill-looking,  but  there  is 
a  brazen  stare  and  an  evil  look  in  her  eyes 
which  spoils  what  might  otherwise  be  a  pretty 
face. 

"  Please,  mister,  do  let  me  go.  I  tell  you 
how  it  was.  You  see  it  was  just  this  way:  I 
wanted  to  know  how  far  it  was  to  Johnny 
Kegan's  saloon,  so  I  went  up  to  a   nice,  kind 


I. 


168 


THE   STATION- HOCrSB. 


gentleman  and  asked  him,  and  the  cop  came 
up  and  pinched  me  for  street-walking." 

All  this  is  rattled  off  with  a  volubility  sim- 
ply amazing ;  but  the  officer  in  charge  is  un- 
impressionable. There  is  a  sort  of  "old 
offender"  air  about  the  woman  which  [makes 
him  suspicious.     He  asks  : 

"Well,  and  what  business  had  you  at  Johnny 
Kegan's  saloon  at  such  an  hour  ?" 

The  assertion  misses  lire.  Either  the  woman 
is  prepared  or  she  is  ready-witted. 

"  Well,  you  see,  mister,  the  young  man  as 
keeps  company  with  me  he  sometimes  goes  up 
there  of  an  evening,  and  then,  your  honor — " 

•*  There,  there,  that  last  expression  makes  me 
suspicious.  You  can  use  it  to  the  Recorder  in 
the  morning.  Some  one  down  there  may 
recognize  you." 

And  she  also  disappears  in  the  depths  of  dark- 
ness in  the  rear. 

A  frightful  din  assails  our  ears.  It  is  mon- 
strous. Over  all  the  noise  of  sculfling  feet,  of 
something  being  carried  along  and  dropped 
every  yard  or  two.  Once  in  a  while  oaths  and 
cursing. 


I 


THB  STAT10N-HOUSB. 


169 


Two  men,  each  with  a  policeman  on  either 
side,  stagger  into  the  room.  Of  their  condition 
there  is  no  chance  to  doubt.  They  arc  drunk 
on  vile  whisky,  and  dangerous  at  that.  An  in- 
describable odor  permeates  the  room  into  which 
they  enter.  It  is  more  nauseous  than  the 
exhalations  of  a  corpse. 

The  livid  skin  and  starting  eyes,  the  trem- 
bling hands  and  quaking  knees,  all  tell  their 
tale.  They  are  upon  the  verge  of  delirium 
tremens,  and  ere  long  the  snakes  and  the  blue 
monkevs  will  trail  over  them. 

0 

One  glance  at  them,  and  their  historv  is  read. 
They  are  of  that  numerous  class  who  cumber 
the  earth — too  lazy  to  work,  too  cowardly  to 
steal ;  living  in  foul  dens  and  reeking  brothels, 
and  issuing  like  bats  only  in  the  night-time. 
They  have  been  born  vicious,  and  their  early 
training  has  not  been  of  the  kind  to  set  their 
feet  aright. 

In  face  of  these  criminals,  society  to-day  is 
powerless.  True,  it  imprisons  them,  and  they 
are  lost  to  sight  and  out  of  harm's  way,  but  they 
are  a  burden  upon  the  tax-payers.  If  they  are 
sent  down  to  do  a  term,  ten  others  are  born  to 


170 


TBS  8TATI0N-H0USS. 


take  their  place — born  in  ignorance,  dirt,  and 
the  vilest  immorality,  with  no  steady  means  of 
support,  but  their  wits  and  their  dishonesty. 
They  are  the  creatures  born  of  crowded  tene- 
ments and  hideous  and  unnatural  social  condi- 
tions. 

The  next  customer  walks  in  with  the  ease 
and  grace  of  a  dancing-master.  He  needed  no 
club  to  persuade  him  that  the  way  to  the  sta- 
tion-house was  the  same  in  which  the  police- 
man was  directing  him.  His  clothes  were  neat 
and  quiet,  and  his  general  appearance  was  pre- 
possessing. Thev;  had  been  a  fire  that  night, 
and  he  was  caught  red-handed  with  his  hand  in 
a  gentleman's  pocket. 

Upon  the  man's  face  the  disciple  of  Lavater 
might  dwell  awhile.  There  was  no  look  of 
dissipation,  no  red  eyelids,  no  unkempt  hair  ; 
the  man  w  is  neatness  personified  ;  but  a  nerv-  * 
ous  movement  of  his  hands  and  a  restless, 
hunted  look  in  his  eyes  spoke  against  him.  He 
was  in  all  probability  one  of  those  whose  hand 
is  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  hand 
against  him. 

Once  only  he  started,  when  a  prominent  city 


r 


THE  STATI0N-U0U8G. 


171 


detective  came  into  the  station  just  as  he  was 
being  put  into  a  cab  to  he  driven  to  Police 
Headquarteas.  But  the  scrutiny  did  not  re- 
sult in  anything  satisfactory  to  the  official.  He 
shook  his  head  slightly  and  turned  away. 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  shone  for  an  instant 
in  the  eves  of  the  handcuffed  man,  and  his  lips 

0 

moved.  Even  a  sigh  seemed  to  escape  him. 
One  would  have  sworn  that  he  had  said  to 
himself,  '"That  was  a  close  shave." 

But  he  lias  smiled  too  early.  Next  morn- 
ing we  read  that  one  of  the  smoothest  and 
most  dangerous  crooks  in  America  has  been 
captured  and  that  for  a  while  he  will  he  lost  to 
sigh    in  the  quiet  of  St.  V^incent  de  Paul. 

We  have  seen  some  of  the  pluy  and  a  few  of 
its  actors,  and  we  can  meditate. 

Right  m  Montreal  is  sin  and  sorrow,  pover- 
ty and  crime.  The  vile  purlieus  of  London  or 
the  slums  of  New  York  it  cannot  reproduce  in 
quantity.  There  is  not  as  much  vice,  for  there 
is  not  as  much  room  for  it:  but  vice  is  vice  in 
Montreal,  as  in  New  York  ur  London. 

Montreal  has  no  seven-story  ruokerics  which 
raise  their  hideous  heads  to  heaven  from  Mul- 


173 


TBX  STATION- UOUSB. 


berry  and  Baxter  streets ;  but  poverty  is  cos- 
mopolitan, and  it  is  just  as  grinding  in  the  low 
cellars  and  dirty  tenements  of  the  Faubourg  de 
Quebec.  For  these  unfortunates  organized 
chanty  and  education  are  necessary  and  claim 
immediate  attention.  Who  will  begin  this 
Augean  task  ? 

If  we  have  directed  the  notice,  intelligent 
and  charitable,  of  one  man  to  the  faults  of  his 
native  city,  and  to  the  ulcers  upon  her  surface, 
and  underneath,  this  book  has  not  been  written 
in  vain. 

We  av^ait  the  result  with  anxiety  not  un- 
mixed with  hope. 


THE  END.